


Drifters and Dancers

by Sarahhannigan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Bellarke, F/M, Romance, travellers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 16:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahhannigan/pseuds/Sarahhannigan
Summary: “There. Bellamy won’t know the difference.”Octavia was wrong.“Who is this?” Bellamy asked immediately when he neared the group, eyes fixed on the foreigner, obvious suspicion etched onto his features. His voice was deeper than she had expected.The young woman froze, completely silent. Octavia had told her to do that, to let the well trained traveller do what she apparently did best. Lie. And so she waited, flickered her gaze to the brunette and prepared herself for whatever tale she was about to create.It didn't take long. “Her name is Clarke.”AU. Clarke is a runaway and Bellamy and the gang are travellers who take her in.SEMI HIATUS





	Drifters and Dancers

**Author's Note:**

> For Bellarke January Joy. 
> 
> This took me ages and I’m not going to lie, there’s probably a fair share of errors in there because I worked on this at like 2AM every night. 
> 
> Sorry!!

Princess Claudette of Arkley was well and truly done with the life she had so been destined to be apart of. From birth, a regal and prestigious attitude had been enforced upon her. She wasn't allowed the experiences of a normal childhood, of a normal anything. Especially not when her parents were ruling an entire region. King Jacob and Queen Abigail, ruthless leaders, respected by most. They were good at their title, their job, Claudette would give them that. Their parenting skills on the other hand, subpar. 

Sometimes, growing up, the princess felt as though she loved and cared for more by staff than she was her own family. It felt as though she was an obligation. The king and queen needed an heir to the throne, she that’s what she was classed. Not a daughter, not a blessing, just an heir. Claudette had royal blood flowing through her veins, and it was meant to define her. 

But that royal blood, something that some would deem as a blessing, an honour, Claudette viewed as a curse. Whilst other kids had the opportunity to go to school, to socialise with their classmates and play out on the streets, she was confined to either her own castle or an allies that she was visiting. 

Never had she ever experienced what it was like to be well and truly free, or even to be well and truly alone for that matter. There was always an advisor, or a guard, or a servant ready and willing to gift her company whether or not she really wanted it. Always to her aid. 

She really only had one true friend growing up. Wells was his name, the son of her father’s greatest advisor, and she loved him like a brother. They got up to plenty of mischief, running from the nannies that tried to contain and smother their childhood yearn for adventure. They ran down grassy hills, skidding on their knees and staining their clothes. The thrill was worth the scolding and punishment they received after. They’d just giggle into their hands, not fazed at all by the situation. Instead, they'd just do it all again the next day. 

That’s the kind of best friend he was, her confidant, partner in crime. Really, her only friend. 

Which was why Claudette’s world was completely turned upside down two years ago when, on a seemingly average day, an attempted coup led to the deaths of four people within the castle walls. Two guards, a lady in waiting and the most hard-hitting of all; her only friend. 

A disgruntled member of court went on a rampage, killing anyone that got in his way. When he had set eyes on the princess, she had froze. She had always been so sheltered, kept from it all. And now someone was trying to kill her just from the actions of her parents alone. It was a real eye opener.

It was Wells who jumped in front of her when the assailant raised his sword, taking the full blow instead of her, saving her life. She held him as the guards took the murderer away, held him as fought for life. She screamed for a medic, a doctor, some aid. 

“Do great things, Claude,” he managed to choke out in time. “Be free.”

Sobbing, she told him to stop saying things like that. That he was going to be fine, that he was going to be doing great things with her, together. 

It was wrongfully placed hope. The medic, the doctor, the aid that she had screamed for…it never came.

Her best friend died in her arms that day. A hero. Gone before he even had the chance to experience what life was really like outside the walls that housed them in.

She hadn't been the same since. A seed had been planted inside of her that day, then grew and flourished until it could no longer be ignored. An untameable beast.

Claudette was nearly eighteen years old, but had no real life experiences. She was so innocent, naive, so unaccustomed to the real world. It bothered her knowing that she was expected to rule this same region one day, and had absolutely no idea regarding the kind of people who lived within it, the kind of daily experiences they endured. 

She was young woman with a tree of adventure planted in her being. With the life long goal to avenge that sadistic murderer, she believed the only she could do was to have enough adventure for the both of them. For Wells and for herself. Determined to not let her blood determine her fate, she did what any stubborn, and naive, and any hurt young person would do.

She ran away. 

It wasn't an easy task, per se. But she had grown up behind these walls, knew every nook and cranny, every secret passage, and after just a week’s observation she had the guard rotation down pat. There was roughly a seven minute lull every Monday on the east side of the wall nearing the stroke of midnight. It was when one of the eldest guards on the team grew impatient of youngest and his lack of time management. He’d leave in a huff, a perfect window of opportunity. 

She told the guards that roamed the corridor that she was having trouble sleeping, that she needed to take a walk in the fresh air to clear her head. The sleepy nightshift guards payed her little attention, just nodded and wished her well. Everything was falling into place.

Claudette left that night with little issue, a rucksack over her shoulder, a cloak over her head and with the hope that she would never return. 

She had a total of of six hours before anyone was to notice she was missing. Those guards, though extremely nice fellows, were poorly at their job. They probably wouldn't have noticed that the princess hadn't returned, they probably concluded that they had just missed her. That she had slip back inside without a word. 

The princess had to make the most of it. Six hours, in the long run, wasn't that much. Especially considering she was on foot, and if a search party was sent out, they’d be on horseback. Sticking to forests and off beaten tracks, she tried navigating her way through the woods she had visited only a few times before; as a child on those rare outings, or that one time her and Wells manage to sneak out and shadow a hunting party in these same woods.

After an hour, she was well and truly lost in grounds that went beyond her realm of knowledge. 

But she had figured, as long as she was going forward, increasing in pace, she was making progress. So that’s exactly what she did, trudged onwards, tripping over roots with branches scratching her arms in the dark. But she needed to make substantial distance between her and the castle. She couldn't get caught. Not now, not when her adventure had only just begun. 

Five hours in, Claudette’s adrenaline had worn off, her lack of sleep becoming apparent as she struggled to will her feet to move and to even her eyes to open. She had been awake for almost twenty four hours, and her body was now beginning to fight her. 

“Stop it,” she found herself murmuring as a weak order. “Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.” 

She remembered a servant when she was younger calling her as stubborn as a mule, though said it with a gentle smile and without any hint of venom. It wasn’t like the scoldings that her mother gave her, calling her stubborn and a nuisance, sometimes even going as far to say an embarrassment to their blood. No, the title of stubborn that was gifted to her that day was more of a compliment, something to be proud of. Claudette never backed down from a challenge, determined to prove everyone wrong, make them see that her way was usually the right way. 

So whenever someone would cal her stubborn, she would just smile and thank them. They mightn't have understood, but Claudette was extremely fond of that trait of hers.

Now though, her stubbornness was being overpowered by something much stronger. Exhaustion.

Mere minutes later, her knees buckled beneath her and she knew for a simple fact, that she wouldn't be able to pull herself back up again for a long while. “Okay,” she breathed instead of trying, giving in. “You win.” 

She managed to swivel herself around to rest against a nearby tree, feeling safer knowing that her back was covered. She was vulnerable out here, anything could've offered her a sort of comfort. Though terrified at the thought of being recaptured and dragged back to her own personal hell, she couldn't go on any further. 

So she just had to risk it. That was all apart of adventure right? Risk. 

Claudette didn't care either way. Not in that moment. Her eyes fluttered shut and her world, at the edges, started seeping to black, the blissful darkness. The runway princess’ first night of freedom was coming to an end.

It wasn't long before the darkness fully consumed her. And she slept. 

***

A sharp pain pierced her head, immediately causing the blonde to wake up in a jolt. It took her a moment to realise where she was. Hard ground, early morning sun, a blanket of pine needles and fallen leaves. It hit her seconds after, both another stone and the realisation that she was currently on the run.

Claudette yelped in both pain and surprise, hand automatically touching at field of attack, head whipping from side to side in the process in order to try and spot the culprit. 

“She is alive!” The princess heard a voice announce with genuine excitement. “I told you!”

But there was nothing was forest in her surrounds, merely dirt, leaves and trees. The freedom of nature at its finest, though now it was suddenly eery. She wasn't as alone as she had once thought, though this whole situation was strange to her. Claudette knew that she would have to encounter people at one point, though didn't expect to be attacked by pebbles and marvelled at by voices whose owners were unclear. 

Yet another stone soared through the sky, this time, hitting her perfectly in the centre of her gleaming brow. Bullseye.

“Shot!” Another high-pitched, child-like voice fluttered in the dead breeze whilst another giggled in quick succession.

It came from above, Claudette pinpointed. Trees. They were in the trees. 

Hand rising to block out the sharpness of the heat and light of the sun, Claudette scanned the lowest branches, eager to find the culprits. But they all seemingly looked completely empty, completely unoccupied. Like witchcraft however, all the princess had to do was blink and suddenly, scarily, they weren’t.

A young girl appeared, dark hair completely tattered and wild as she swung from branch to branch, so skilled and precise in her movements, gliding like she had lived in the treetops her whole life. Then again, being completely unaccustomed to the outside world, maybe people did actually live in the trees nowadays. She hadn't heard reports, but this was the big wide world, anything was possible.

The girl stilled when she neared the bottom, seemingly content within the safe distance. 

She stared down at Claudette with slanted eyes, chewing her lip as she did so. Though not taking her eyes off of her, she called out to her companion. “Ethan, don't be so lily-livered. Get down here.” 

Like the first, the second child appeared from no where, just as skilled and precise as they navigated their way through the trees. This one was a boy, his dirty blonde hair shaggy and unkept, falling over his eyes no matter how many times he tried pushing it away. The two looked roughly the same age, no older than the age of twelve.

As they sat beside each other on the branch, Claudette couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. They reminded her of her childhood with Wells. Happier times.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the latter spoke, fiddling absentmindedly with the slingshot in his grasp. The obvious weapon of choice.

Claudette, still reeling from the sudden attack and rude awakening, couldn't yet formulate a coherent response. 

“Maybe she’s not from around here,” The girl suddenly spoke up, voice a little softer. “She doesn’t look like a local.” The child cocked her head to the side, pensive. “Doesn't look like a traveller either, though.” 

She knew that she’d be getting this type interrogation a lot, still not having figured out how to blend in, though she didn't except it so soon, nor the questioning coming from two children for that matter.

“You spying on us?” The more demanding of the two asked as he loaded up the slingshot, threatening to shoot. 

Hands automatically rising to block out an incoming attack, royalty tried reasoning with the wildling. “No, no,” she exclaimed, trying not to let her actual terror be known. She was an adult and they were mere children. And yet, it seemed as though she was the most vulnerable one in this situation. It was almost laughable. “I was asleep! I can’t possibly spy on you with my eyes closed, can I?”

The children discussed in hushed whispers, seemingly trying to decipher who this stranger was, is she was to be trusted. 

“Madi!” The more aggravated of the two shouted, obviously forgetting that they were meant to be acting inconspicuous. “We can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” the girl, Madi, questioned. 

“What if she actually is a spy?” 

Madi huffed a laugh. “Well then she’s an extremely lousy one. What kind of spy sleeps on the floor, out in the open, looking as out of place as she does? She’s not a spy, Ethan.”

She dropped to the ground, a perfect landing, just before her. From up in the trees, the young boy seemed appalled at his friends actions, though stayed silent from up above. 

“Madi,” the child announced, thrusting her hand forward.

Claudette wasn't entirely use to getting her hand shaken, so faltered a little when deciding which hand she should present to shake back. She decided on the opposite one, and it seemed like the right choice, because Madi grasped it firmly, giving it a firm shake. 

“You know,” she continued. “People usually offer back their own name back when someone tells you theirs.” 

This kid had a lot of spunk, she’d give her that. And according to her, Claudette didn't answer the question in time. 

“Fine.” Madi took her by the hand, leading her away from the trees and towards the sounds that had gotten increasingly throughout this interaction. “You can talk to Aunty O.” 

***

Claudette discovered that the two kids she had been talking to were travellers, no set home. And the Aunty O that Madi had been talking about resided in a camp just through the trees. It wasn't much, just a few horses, carts and canvas tents scattered around a small clearing. Down a small hill she could spot a lake, the obvious water source for these people. And there was a dead campfire too, the provider of both heat and food.

Madi held her hand and weaved through the tents, the inhabitants obviously still inside at such an early hour. Even the horses blinked blearily at her, wondering why the hell they had awoken them so early.

“Aunty O,” she called out once they had stopped out the front of one. “You up?” 

A straggled sort of tired groan was the reply, but Madi accepted it none the less, telling Claudette to stay put before ducking into the opening. 

She could hear a vague, muffled conversation taking place inside. But the princess, not wanting to intrude, kept her distance. She knew it was rude to eavesdrop, no matter how much it tempted her. Those royal attributes of curtesy and politeness still etched into her being. 

It took a while, a few loud outbursts of passionate words, but eventually a brunette appeared. All her features were sharp, her jawline, the curve of her nose, her slanted eyes as she took in the blonde that stood before her. It was terrifying, the observation she was under. Her green eyes were icy. 

Claudette shivered. 

“Should I be bowing?” she finally spoke, and Claudette froze. 

“W-what do you mean?” she managed to stutter out. 

The woman just huffed a laugh. “Oh please,” she breathed, gesturing to her. “You stand out far too much to be a villager, far too much to even be a foreigner. You’re someone with class or better yet, royalty itself, aren't you?” 

She couldn't breathe. Claudette knew that she have to try and fit in once she went on the run, but having something straight declare that they knew she was royalty was a lot to deal with. Was she really that obvious? 

When Claudette didn't reply, the brunette took it upon herself to get the truth out. “Madi,” she called out and the child reappeared almost instantly. “Go find Ethan, maybe gather something for breakfast?” 

Madi frowned, like she was thinking to argue back. But obviously she thought the better of it, because she sulked off, back into the forest, back to Ethan. 

When she turned back to her, her gaze had softened significantly. “Let’s start over.” She thrusted out her hand, and instead of hesitating this time Claudette came forward with the correct hand, a firm shake. “I’m Octavia.” 

You’d think the princess would've learned from just moments ago to come up with a name that sounded believable, or just a name in general. Instead, she just pulled up blank yet again. “I’m—“ the pause she gave was enough to warrant the same response that Madi had given her previously.

“—escaping your past? Running?” Octavia guessed, right on the money. “I’m taking your silence as a yes.” 

This girl, Octavia, she wasn't messing around. And maybe that’s what she needed. She was so use to being stepped around, like she was some fragile china. The gruff and direct approach that Octavia was giving her was refreshing to say the very least. 

“You hungry?” 

When Claudette nodded, she ordered the blonde to sit on the log by a burnout fireplace. 

***

“Look,” Octavia said, pulling apart the orange that she held between her fingertips. “You don't have to have to tell me anything,” she chewed thoughtfully at her wedge, ignoring the juice running down the full length of her chin. “Everyone in this camp, they have pasts. Some good, some not. Some are running, just like you.” 

Claudette gulped, nodding in agreement. 

“Just—“ Octavia took her in, staring at her intently. “How bad was it? Your past?” 

The blonde gave her truth. “I couldn't breathe.” 

It took a moment, like Octavia was gaging whether or not she was telling her a lie, but eventually she stood, slapping her knees on her hands as she did so. “Well,” she said, throwing her peel into the still dead fire pit. “That’s good enough for me.” 

In just a few seconds Octavia had pulled another dazed blonde from a nearby tent. “Harper,” she said, shoving her forward as if to capture her attention. “Meet new girl.” 

Harper yawned, blinking her bleary eyes as she did so, but eventually she plopped down on the log beside her. “Hi, new girl,” she said, thrusting forward her hand. This group was big on handshakes. “Has she been approved yet?” she asked Octavia, hand still in Claudette’s. 

When the brunette shook her head, Harper only laughed. “Correction,” she breathed, leaning in close. She smelt of smoke and sweet oil, a smell Claudette could get use to. “Hi, potential new girl.” 

She had been in the group for an hour when more people and horses appeared down at the lake, washing said animals in the cool water as they sorted and skinned animals that they had obviously just caught from an early morning hunt. 

There was four men all up, but the young woman’s eye had focussed entirely on one particular member of the gathering. 

A man, tanned skin glistening under the early morning sun. He was topless, a rarity seen within the castle walls. Modesty was key. It couldn't be helped if the princess gawked at the heavenly definition of the muscles that emerged from seemingly every inch of him. It was only natural. She had been so cruelly deprived.

A short huff of a laugh he let out caused her doe eyed gaze to drift to his face. It was then that her heart gave a funny sort of twinge, a little like yearning with just a hint of recognition. His teeth were impeccably white, perhaps an illusion to the contrary of his much darker skin. Even at a distance she could see freckles, so many of them peppering him like the snowflakes that fell at winter. His hair was dark, too. Curly, shoulder length, the top half in a messy knot, mauve ribbon tied loosely to keep it in place. 

Claudette wasn't an overly religious girl, but if there was a God, he sure had blessed this fine creation. 

“That’s Bellamy.” Harper had obliviously noticed her blatant viewing. “Pretty, ain’t he?” 

Claudette furrowed her brow, eyes dropping to shyly look at her lap. Pretty didn't seem like the correct term to use. Hell, handsome didn't even seem like the correct term to use. Tanned, muscular skin. Dark, rugged curls. A singular pantaloon garment barely grazed the tops of his knees, concealing the only part of the male anatomy that was frowned upon showing in public. In the castle they would call him disgraceful. Right now, in this moment, the princess would call him grace itself. 

Harper laughed, causing the young girl to look up. “Save your heart the inevitable ache.” 

Despite her flustered exterior, she was still so very intrigued. “Why?” His beauty seemed harmless.

“Because it’s Bellamy.” 

It seemed as though the blonde had completely forgotten that the blonde was new around here, that she hadn't yet figured everyone out. She frowned at the thought. _Because it’s Bellamy._ What on earth did that mean?

Before she had time to think about it further, two hands were suddenly, impatiently, waving their fingers in front of her gaze. An invitation to grab ahold of them. She did just that, being pulled to her feet with a surprising amount of strength. “You need to change.”

Octavia, to her discovery, was particularly bossy. Her cheeks looked recently rouged, hair that once was tied back now flowing down the entire length of her back. She had changed, too. Possibly for one of the men that had recently returned from their hunting trip. But the order she gave Claudette seemed a little flustered, a little desperate. 

“Why?” 

“Why?” Octavia repeated, looping their arms together and guiding her towards a blue, painted canvas tent in a faster step than was necessarily needed. “Because you’re looking far too regal to be hanging about with people like us. You’re drawing too much attention.”

The princess frowned, but followed the brunette none the less. Inside the tent, a pile of blankets and furs lay in a heap atop of a weave woven carpet. She believed it was meant to be a bed, how different they looked in the castle. Big, wooden, extravagant. This version was far more humbling. A singular table sat lonesomely in the far corner, providing a base for two unlit lanterns. And other than a wooden chest, that was it. Minimal, relatively bare, but homely all the same. 

Octavia rummaged through said chest, pulling out various garments before throwing them all on top of the furs in a messy pile. “Right,” the brunette breathed, hands on hips as she let out a content sigh. “Strip and try these on.”

Claudette kept waiting for Octavia to leave, or turn around at the very least. But she just stood there, blinking at the blonde while her foot bounced impatiently. The thing was, Claudette wasn't use to just shedding her clothing without a second thought. Though she had servants who were meant to dress her back at the castle, she always refused to be aided with the basics. She allowed the servants to tighten her gowns, fix her hair and makeup, lace up her corsets. But that was all. She always demanded complete privacy when bathing, shy within her own skin. So when Octavia expected her to just strip, eyes unrelenting and expecting of her; she was taken aback. 

“Could you turn around?” the blonde asked her meekly, a plea. 

Octavia opened her mouth to retort, but taking in the woman’s obviously uncomfortable and vulnerable state, she gratefully let it slide and she turned herself around without a word.

The blonde held some of the clothing items, deciding immediately upon first glance that they wouldn't fit her, especially around the bust. She was rather well gifted in that area, but these clothes did not cater to such attributes. Luckily, beneath all tiny pieces that would offer no sort of security, was a dress. It was copper coloured, with simple ruffled sleeves and a flowing skirt that ended just above the ankle. Though nothing like the dresses she was accustomed to wearing, this excited her none the less. Modest, plain yet effortlessly beautiful. She had never experienced something like this, the rarity of the basic. 

Claudette unsheathed cloak and old dress hen slipped into the new one quickly, not wanting to be exposed any longer than she had to be. She knew at one point that she would have to switch clothing, and thus praised herself for remembering to wear her most comfortable brassiere and pantaloons. A corset out here would do her no good.

Smoothing down the material, she allowed herself a few seconds to marvel at her new life, spinning so that the skirt fluttered around her. When she finally suppressed her excitement, she coughed to give the all clear. 

“Much better,” Octavia beamed, taking her in as she turned. “Like a true traveller, now.” 

Claudette couldn't help but smile. She liked the sound of that. Traveller. It was much more freeing. 

“Undo your braids,” she suggested, eyes glinting when the blonde did as she was told. She ran her fingers through her golden girls, tousling them, messing them about until Octavia deemed the whole hairdo to her liking. Then, going above and beyond, she pulled from her own ear a feathered earring, securing it to Claude’s simple hoops with a final nod. “There. Bellamy won’t know the difference.”

Octavia was wrong. 

“Who is this?” Bellamy asked immediately when he neared the group, eyes fixed on the foreigner, obvious suspicion etched onto his features. His voice was deeper than she had expected.

The young woman froze, completely silent. Octavia had told her to do that, to let the well trained traveller do what she apparently did best. Lie. And so she waited, flickered her gaze to the brunette and prepared herself for whatever tale she was about to create. 

It didn't take long. “Her name is Clarke.”

Clarke. In all honestly, it wasn't a name that the princess would've chosen for herself. She probably would've gone with something a little longer, something a little more mystical or intriguing. Maybe a name associated with nature, like Chrysanthe or Ellwood or Sapphire. But the more she thought about it, the more she grew to like it.

Her secret nickname, as a child, had been Claude, though she had never allowed anyone she didn't trust to call her that. Wells called her Claude. Some of the kitchen staff that she had grown up around called her Claude. But that was all. It was something special, a gift she shared when she felt well and truly loved by the caller.

That was her experience with a hard-hitting name, a name that sounds like a stolen breath, like an order. Claude commanded whoever said it, though it wasn't a name that everyone wanted to know the story of origin, the meaning of. It was just Claude. 

And now she was just Clarke. Basically the same name, just a different variation. And she wasn't going to lie; she loved it.

So Clarke it was. A new beginning. Her new title.

“She just found out her husband was cheating was decided to leave him. She just stumbled upon us and decided to come along for the ride. Problem?”

The question was directed at Bellamy, but Clarke had a major problem with it on her own side. _Husband?_ Clarke had never even kissed a boy before, let alone legally bound herself to one. And the husband, cheater, distraught wife runaway was such a difficult route to take. There was so many questions surrounding such a lie, and Clarke wasn't yet skilled enough to make all her answers believable. 

“Where you from?” Bellamy asked her, brow set and firm. He was attempting to look intimidating, and yet Clarke wasn't all that scared. She’d dealt with a lot worse in her past, and somehow that familiar pang meant that even if he was screaming at her, a part of her knew that he didn't really mean it. It was weird. Like it had been wired into her brain that this man in front of her wasn't all what he portrayed.

Clarke replied, not breaking his stare. She was strong. She could do this. Her first test. “East.” 

“That’s descriptive.” Sarcasm. Nothing was more annoying.

Clarke sighed, then tried again. A little stronger this time. “To the sea then across it.” 

He blinked, something resembling a smirk fluttering on his lips “I like your accent.” 

Crap.

“Real foreign.” He was mocking her now, adding another level to the sarcasm, another degree of smugness. It was such a shame that someone so attractive could be such an annoying bastard. That was just another thing she would discover in this cruel world. ”She’s lying.” 

“So what? We’re travellers, Big Brother,” Octavia suddenly spoke up, a special sort of glint in her eye. _Brother._ That made a lot of sense. She gestured to the growing group around them, people emerging from their tents to see what all the fuss was about. “We all lie.” 

Bellamy slanted his eyes, pulling the ribbon from his hair, allowing the long locks to fall before he ran his fingers through the tousles. For a second she was mesmerised, but all too soon she remembered what was happening, and the illusion was shattered. “That’s not true.” 

“Really?” Octavia had a sort of smile that always seemed mischievous, like she was constantly one step ahead. “Miller!”

A young man’s head shot up through the crowd, acknowledging the woman speaking. “Yeah?” he answered, hesitant. 

“Are you in love with Jackson?” 

“What?” He began to stutter, eyes wide and he wrung his hands together nervously. He glanced at a young man that stood across the crowd, Clarke noticing how both their cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Despite his expected answer, everyone already knew the truth. You didn't need to be a genius to figure it out. “No.” 

“See?” Octavia pointed to the man, using him as a prime example. “Liar.”

Bellamy seemed to think it over, staring intently at Clarke as he did so. It was like he was inspecting a creature he had seen once in a dream, trying to memorise every detail. She could feel her cheeks growing warn under his gaze, with the fact that a large crowd was currently watching the entire interaction also added to her embarrassment. 

And yet, Clarke couldn't look away. As if enchanted, she stared into the dark brown that somehow held so much familiarly. 

She gulped, trying to smother it down. Bellamy must’ve realised how blatant he was being, because he blinked quickly and shook his head, clearing his head. “Fine,” he announced, like he was the ruler of the world, deciding absolutely everything. “You can stay.” 

Octavia squealed in delight, though silenced when Bellamy raised his hand. 

“But you better pull your weight. I mean it. We’re not babysitters, Blondie.” 

Clarke would've scoffed at the nickname if she wasn't so grateful that she wasn't getting kicked out. So she just nodded instead, biting her tongue. 

“O,” he started, addressing the younger woman now, ”you show her how things are done around here, how to act, our rules, how to stay in line. You’ll share your tent with her, too. Until either she quits, or we find another sleeping arrangement that suits you better. She’s your responsibility. Understand?” 

Octavia nodded, she too most likely deciding that it was best not to talk back. 

“Good.” 

He turned back to Clarke, eyes set a little harder than they had been before. “Don’t mess this up, Blondie.”

Bellamy turned to leave, but before he could a surge of braveness made itself known within Clarke’s being. “Stop with the stupid nickname. My name is Clarke.” 

He laughed, a little bitter. “Sure it is,” he smirked, winking as an afterthought. 

Clarke had grown up with the idea that you should never hate anyone. You dislike them, sure. But hate was a strong word, with a strong meaning. People may do something wrong, may stuff up from time to time, but there was usually room for redemption. 

There’s was only one man that she truly hated, that she would never forgive. That lucky receiver was the man that stole her best friend from her. 

Bellamy, well, he was a close second in gaining that sacred title. Maybe it wasn't fair, she really only just met him. But if he continued to carry on the way he had been, he would be well and truly be on his way. 

“See you around, Blondie.”

Clarke huffed, half exasperated, half peeved off that someone that good-looking could be such an ass. 

“He’s not always such an asshole,” Octavia promised, reading her mind as she linked her arm through Clarke’s. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m his sister. He’ll come around once he gets to know you.” 

She tried for a smile. “Yeah,” breathed, taking deep breath. It was still all so overwhelming, everything happening so fast. “Okay.” 

“In the mean time,” Octavia smiled. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” 

Apparently, newcomers were hard to come by in this particular travelling party. The group was extremely close knit, with Bellamy being the one to oversee all arrivals, to decide whether or not they could be trusted or worthy. Such an arrival was a major event. Bellamy was extremely picky.

She spent a good hour being introduced to her new family, her new home. 

Madi and Ethan she knew of, though was told a lot more. They were both eleven, not always the best of friends but good company for each other none the less. Clarke learnt that their separate biological parents weren't in the picture, that they had been adopted by the whole group instead, two little runways that had also found their way here. Similar in more ways than one.

Clarke learnt that her knew friend, Harper, was in a relationship with a man named Monty. They were so cute together, giggling like teenagers in a newfound love. Because that’s what they were. A love that was so wholesome, so pure, right in front of her. She didn't see much of that in the castle. In fact, she didn't see any.

Jasper was next, so entirely caught up in his own excitement that his just about crushed Clarke to death in a bone crushing. He was a lanky larrikin, with these big brown eyes that you couldn't help but adore. He was the epitome of sunshine, and Clarke liked him immediately. They were surely going to be great friends.

Lincoln followed suit, and Clarke wasn't going to lie, she was extremely intimidated by the appearance of him. Big, buff, tattoos trailing the entire the length of his arms and sweeping up the side of his neck. If she encountered him anywhere else, she probably would've averted her eyes and tried to make herself as small as possible. How wrong her feelings had been placed though. Because his smile was infectious, his entire character warm and inviting. His presence made her feel safe, like now that she was apart of the group, he’d be looking out for her too. A family guy, with family values. 

She learned pretty quickly too that him and Octavia were an item, their tongues stuck down each others throats until Bellamy shouted at them to quit it from across camp. 

“Sorry,” Octavia mouthed to both Bellamy and Clarke alike, but underneath she could tell that she didn't really mean it. 

Miller and Jackson were on the quieter side, probably still humiliated from the interaction before. But they welcomed her with smiles and greetings none the less, hands in pockets as they stood near the outskirts of the group. She’d need to get to know them a little more if she wanted to form a better relationship, but they seemed nice enough. 

Finally, when all interactions had been made, all stories and welcoming told, Clarke was ‘introduced’ to the final member. “And that’s Murphy,” Harper informed her, pointing down at the lake where Bellamy and the another man were riding their horses in the shallows. “Bellamy’s bitch.” 

The group all laughed, though it was without malice. She liked that about them. They were like a family ruffling the feathers of one of their own, though doing it good-naturedly. The words weren't actually meant to hurt, more like playful banter.

“He’s a prickly sort of guy,” Monty continued on, frowning. “Hasn’t been the same since Emori went haywire and ditched us a couple of months back. He sure did love her.”

There was a weird sort of silence that settled over the group, like they were all reflecting on something Clarke didn't yet know.

“Just let him come to you,” Jackson offered as a word of advice, finally perking up. “When he’s ready, when he actually gets intrigued by your presence, he may not be an asshole.” 

Some hummed in agreement, but the lacklustre effort given suggested that that probably wouldn't be the case. 

***

It turns out everything was going Clarke’s way for once, because she had arrived in camp on a day they were planning on leaving, a big trip way up north to discover what the world had in store for them up there. Thus, further distance would be created between her and the castle, including anyone that was looking for her. And as a delightful bonus, her adventure was well and truly beginning. She was exploring the world with the people who have made it their goal to do the same. 

It was a pretty awesome feeling. 

Octavia snapped the rein on her horse, the creature lazily beginning to trot, pulling the cart that both her and Clarke sat upon onwards. They were at the back of the group, meant to be on lookout from prying eyes, guards and such. They did a rather halfhearted job, instead chatting the entire way to their new destination. 

“This is the only life I’ve ever known,” Octavia admitted when asked why she was a traveller, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “It feels weird if I stay in one place for too long. I don't like routine, and I get bored in my surroundings really quickly. And I don’t like feeling like I’m a sitting duck. So the traveller life works for me.” 

It sounded so appealing, travelling your whole life. Seeing the sights that only some people could only dream of. Heaven. 

Octavia must have noticed Clarke’s contentment, because she shattered her little bubble with some hard facts. “It’s not always easy, Clarke. People…” she took a breath. “They think we’re misfits. They view us as trouble, and more often than not, they chase us away.”

Her heart dropped, a little crushed. “Oh.”

“You still want to do this? You can leave. There’s no judgement here.” 

Clarke shook her head, adamant. “I’m staying. I can’t go back now.” 

“Just,” Octavia took a breath. “This life isn't a fairytale.” 

“And neither is life in the castle,” she concluded, firm. “But at least I’m free. And right now, that’s all that matters to me. So I’m staying.” 

She could feel the brunette’s gaze on her, and when she turned she was surprised to find her actually smiling at her. A genuine one, too. Like she was pleasantly surprised at Clarke’s reply. 

“Well then,” she said. “Welcome home.” 

*** 

Clarke began to grow accustomed to life on the move. It was weird. Although they never really planned on where they were heading next, always taking the spontaneous route, there was still a hint of routine that everyone followed no matter where they went. 

In the morning, whoever felt the most alive would go on an early morning hunting/gathering expedition, gathering enough supplies for either the day or for a quick move. People would then rise sporadically throughout the morning, drinking tea and eating a communal breakfast prepared by whoever felt like cooking that day. 

Midday to mid afternoon was when the group would generally split up for a while. Some stayed in camp, dozing, lazing, doing chores or odd jobs that needed doing. Others went exploring in small groups, taking advantage of water natural wonder that were near that particular day. And sometimes, those bravest would travel into nearby villages to buy or sell goods. 

Clarke never went though. So early on, it was risky. 

Sundown until near midnight was when the most fun was to be had. Smoking, drinking, deep conversations and contagious laughter. They played made dinner, joked around and played the occasional game, both with alcohol and without alcohol involved. 

The blonde never drank though. She was too scared of what she may slip if she was inebriated. But on that topic, no really ever asked about her past. It was like some unspoken agreement that whatever one’s past life consisted of, it didn't matter anymore. All that really mattered was the now, was life on the road. 

So she didn't ask about anyone’s past, and they didn't ask about hers. Clarke’s earlier apprehension of keeping up that cheating husband story was wrongfully placed. The group couldn't have cared less. 

Eventually, back to the routine, all their energy would drain and one by one they'd crawl into their respective tents and carriages, too done with the day to continue it, needing rest. 

And in all honesty, Octavia wasn't the worst tent buddy in the world. She didn't snore, didn't twitch in her sleep like Wells use too. But on more than one occasion her flying limbs would smack Clarke in the head, waking her up in both fright and annoyance. 

She was pretty sure that Bellamy had only put her with Octavia just so his sister wouldn't bunk with Lincoln, her boyfriend, instead. But on the mornings that she woke up alone, she knew that Bellamy’s plan hadn't worked. 

Clarke would emerge on those mornings, smiling a little brighter as if to mock him. Because he wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly what was going on right beneath his nose, though hated when Clarke rubbed it in. 

That’s why she did it. To ruffle his feathers.

“Shut up, Blondie,” he would always mutter, throwing her the closest piece of fruit he could find. 

More often than not, in her early morning daze where her coordination wasn't the best, it’d hit her. Sometimes in the face, sometimes on the torso. He never threw it hard enough for it to hurt, but she hated how smug he looked when it did so.

So she’d just pick it up and threw it back at him, harder. 

Another sort of routine. 

Yet another was the cloak that Clarke constantly wore over her shoulders. There had only been a few instances where they had encountered people from the outside world, but it was one too many for Clarke’s liking. Too risky. 

It was better to have it by her side, something she could easily resort to if she ever felt uneasy. 

And no one ever asked about that either, because it was getting cold out. Everyone was wearing some sort of coat, or jacket, or cloak. An easy disguise. And it worked. It wasn't foolproof, but it worked. 

Clarke was just fine with that.

***

They arrived late at a camp one day, much later than usual. They set up their tents quickly under the diminishing sun, caught a few rabbits, and ate dinner quickly, everyone too tired to even attempt doing more. 

But Clarke had seen some beautiful scenery on the journey here, and so, wanting to check out all the surrounding of this camp had to offer, she awoken early the next morning, setting off on an spontaneous adventure. 

Because that’s what she was now. She was spontaneous and she was free. And if she wanted some adventure, she’d have to go out and find it. 

Too bad Clarke had to discover how in over her head she had been. 

She found a waterfall just a few minutes walk from base, and with her canvas canteen around her waist, she thought it was the perfect opportunity to start her day off with fresh, icy water from this marvellous creation. 

She made her way to the side of the falls, where a small path serrated itself from the actual river that the falls fell into and the running water itself.

Clarke was completely caught up in the beauty of it all. The way the dark green moss clung to the damp rocks. The precision in the way in which it comfortably wedged itself in the crevices between stones. To some, it would be considered irrelevant. A useless creation that held no meaning. Clarke, however, saw the beauty in the simplest of things. She didn't need silk from foreign lands, or dresses handmade in the city of a wealthy land that she couldn't yet pronounce the name of. Funnily enough, this was what she needed. Clusters of green moss. 

She smiled at the thought. 

In awe, her pale fingers reached out, tracing the furry green nature of such a simple phenomenon. In the palace made of stone, a place she once considered home, any sign of the growth was scrubbed away, destroyed in all its beauty. Apparently moss wasn’t elegant enough to thrive in such a regal building, yet flowers were allowed to be paraded in all their colourful, hay fever inducing glory. Never did it matter that the princess would erupt in a fit of sneezes whenever they were presented to her. She was meant to smile, receive them with a gracious word of thanks. Then, and only then, was she to excuse herself to blow her nose and wipe at her watery eyes. 

In all honesty, she’d much rather a bouquet of moss. It had rather more practical application. Also, she found the plant much prettier than any flower. Perhaps she was considered odd in that sense. 

Clarke grasped at the side of the rock wall, carefully inching her way alongside the small ledge in order to get to the flowing water falling from the edge of the cliff above. Running water, to Clarke’s current knowledge, was much safer to drink than water that was stilled. That was her goal, refill the canvas canteen.

The goal, however, wouldn't be achieved.

Everything, before that moment, was utterly beautiful beneath the early morning sun. And perhaps, so caught up in the mesmerising nature of it all, she wasn't paying enough attention to her foot placement. Her ankle twisted beneath her, her bare feet slipping on the slime that grew on the surface of the rocks she stood upon. 

Letting out an involuntary scream, she began to fall, arms flailing, trying so hard to find a quick purchase for her helpless fingers. To no avail. She was tripping, she was falling and suddenly she was submerged in the icy cold water she had been trying so hard to avoid. 

She panicked, gasping for air that wasn't there. Her lungs filled with water instead. 

Choking, she forced herself upwards in the large body of water, trying so hard to keep herself above the line that separated her from life and death. 

Blinking away the droplets blurring her vision, she found the ledge in which she had just fallen from. An arms length away. She was submerged again in a matter of seconds, but she knew know what she needed to do. Paddling rather unceremoniously, she made her way towards the handhold, head dunking, breath intake ceasing. Her entire body was throbbing, her lungs burning with a fire that technically didn't exist. Only the excruciating feeling gnawed at every part of her being.

But then she found it, a hard surface to grasp onto, to cling to. She was still spluttering, but at least she was above water. She had access to air, access to a chance of surviving. Inhaling every little particle she could, she took a breath, and coughed, and took a breath, and coughed. A vicious cycle. Until, finally, she gathered up the strength to try and hoist herself back up to solid ground. To free herself from the icy chamber she was trapped in. 

She had just started, gathering up all power that she had left in her small frame, when, “Need a hand?” 

Clarke craned her neck, spotting none other than Bellamy standing on the bank of the river, a fair distance away. An infuriating sly smile spread across his lips, and all Clarke wanted to do in that moment was to slap it right off.

“Screw—“ Clarke stated, breathlessly attempting to finish the insult, “—you.” 

Bellamy, hands on his hips, only huffed a hint of a humourless laugh. “Seriously, though…” He had already taken off his coat, dropping it to the dry land beside him. 

She stopped him however, when he made the move to take off his shirt. “I’m quite capable,” she gritted out, trying to stop her teeth from chattering together. “Thank you.”

Surveying the wall in front of her, she assessed the situation, determined to prove that bastard wrong. Clarke didn't want to fit the stereotype. The mould that she detested. That she was the damsel in distress and he, the knight in shining armour. The girl wanted to prove she was more than capable of being her own damn hero. 

“Well then,” he spoke. “Have at it.”

Scoffing, movements jarred and shaky, Clarke turned back to deliver him some smart retort. The words, however, died on her pale blue lips. 

Bellamy was without a shirt. Yet again. 

Head snapping forward once more, she closed her eyes and tried so hard not to let the heat rise to her cheeks. Bellamy’s body, from afar, was perfectly fine to admire. The panes of tanned, freckled skin and the hard, defined muscles she would openly gawk at whenever he was down by the creek and she was back at camp. Now, though? He was entirely too close, entirely too much skin exposed under the moonlight. 

“Leave,” Clarke shivered, voice firm. “I’m fine.” 

But when she didn't hear the characteristic sound of an exit, she decided to continue anyway. After all, she only prove him wrong if he watched. A few excruciating seconds of blitzing pain she had to endure before things got a little easier. And after a while, everything was going surprisingly well for the circumstance. Second by second, painstaking inch by inch she was succeeding. When she looked up, she believed she had found her own knight in shining armour. An object, not a man. Jutting out from the wall was a rock, seemingly stable enough to grab ahold of. Clarke grasped at it with all her diminishing might, gasping tirelessly as she pulled herself upwards. 

But the rock crumbled, her grip slipping. Bellamy ought to love that. 

Her fall was broken by a rather unconventional way —her head, smacking hard against the surface of the ledge. Clarke screamed in pain, only this time it was silenced by the waterfall. She kicked desperately for a while, trying to claw herself back to the surface once more. But eventually she turned too tired, too diminished. Slowly, black began to seep into her vision and instead of fighting it, Clarke let it. 

Painfully, quietly, the darkness began to take her. Not that it mattered anyway. She would be saved, like always. She was a princess. They didn't save themselves.

Two strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her upwards to the surface. To safety. The blonde didn't fully register that she could suddenly breathe again until she heard a determined exhale of a breath in her right ear, his arms squeezing tight around her torso. Air was all around her, and that now, desperately, she was sucking it in like her life defended on it, because it did actually depend on it. 

Everything was still a little hazy, her whole body so entirely panicked, that it took a while to notice a solid mass was behind her. 

Clarke coughed, trying to release all the water that her lungs had housed. Choking and spluttering, a hand started smacking at her back, hard, until she expelled all of the liquid. 

“Breathe, blondie.”

She did what she was told, not at all caring that he was pressed so close to her in that moment. In fact, she leant into him even more, head falling back against his shoulder. Clarke was too weak to remember that they resented each other, too grateful to let the proximity bother her. All she could focus on now was breathing. 

“There you go.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, soothing.

When the minutes ticked by, intake and outtake becoming even, Bellamy seemingly deemed her well enough to follow instructions. “Lean forward.”

Unsure why, Clarke still did so without question. Bellamy helped her, pushing gently against her shoulder with one hand, the other slipping down to her waist. 

Tugging at her soaked nightgown, he made a simple request. “Take this off or you'll freeze.”

Huffing, Clarke shook her head. “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” she replied, voice strained.

“I’ll give you my coat…” he began to challenge her, but she turned to him, the words died on his lips. 

Apparently the liquid she could feel tricking down her cheek wasn't just water. It was blood. 

“Shit,” he murmured, thumb rising to touch at the wound gently, thoughtfully. “Fuck.”

It furrowed Clarke’s already pensive brow. Perhaps he felt the slightest hint of guilt in encouraging her to continue on with her _I don't need you to save me_ act.

She flinched when his fingertip stung her, and he instantly recoiled. 

“I need to stop the bleeding,” he announced. “And you need to take off that goddamn gown before you turn into an ice block.”

Clarke only rolled her eyes, not backing down despite the shivers that were wracking her body into convulsions.

“Please,” he whispered, seemingly desperate. The warmness of the word tickled the shell of her ear. “I promise I won’t look if it means that much to you.” 

She shook her head. The Princess had always had the concept of modesty drilled into her naive mind ever since she was a young girl. Various parts of her anatomy were to be shared by those that were deemed worthy or necessary. Bellamy fit neither of those categories thus far. 

“I’m fine,” she announced, firm, shuffling forward to distance herself. “You can leave me alone now.” Clarke had always had this horrible tendency to close up whenever threatened, whenever she felt even just the slightest hint of vulnerability. 

Dumbfounded, Bellamy only questioned her. “What?” 

“Leave.” Her voice was sharp, demanding. “I’ll find my way back. I don't need you anymore.”

“Oh really?” Bellamy asked, making no move to stand up. “Fine. Freeze to death. See if I care.”

Clarke almost found it laughable how quickly his mood could change, his demeanour too. Then again though, he was eerily similar to her in that sense. She had no right to judge.

“You’d like that, wouldn't you?” she retorted. Fuel to feed his fire. 

“Oh, absolutely.” He was mocking her entirely. “That’s why I saved your drowning ass just moments ago.” 

Clarke braced herself, turning to look over her shoulder, watching as Bellamy reached out and collected his coat, shaking off any leaves that clung to it. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that, blondie?”

When she looked up at him, she made sure to only focus on his face. It was the least distracting feature of his at the moment. 

“Why?” she huffed. “Because I don't want to strip in front of you?”

Bellamy, seemingly angered, took a deep breath. “Because I just saved your goddamn life, and you're acting like me trying to keep you warm, me trying to help you, is a fucking crime against humanity. I don't give a shit about your bits and pieces. Trust me, I’ve seen them all before. I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”

When Clarke’s gaze dropped, Bellamy took it as a sign that perhaps he was getting through to her.

The thing was, this wasn't just about feeling vulnerable. Clarke was embarrassed. Embarrassed that she was completely incompetent in completing such a simple task. What she wanted, more than anything in the world, was to prove that she didn't need to rely on staff in order to live her life. She wanted her independence and her freedom, not wanting to be reliant anymore. 

This scene, however, proved that perhaps she still was. 

Clarke turned, facing forwards once more, feeling as Bellamy stood from his perch behind her. “Whatever,” he muttered, the underlying sound of hurt evident in his voice. “You’re welcome.” 

He had guilted her. That bastard had guilted her.

Rolling her eyes and accepting defeat, Clarke rose, calling his name as she did so. “Bellamy, wait—“ 

But the severity of Clarke’s cut to the head had been overlooked, and as the dizziness took ahold of her, she began to stumble forward. She surely would’ve had another encounter with the harshness of the ground if it weren't for him. For Bellamy. In an instant one of her arms was sturdy beneath her knees, scooping her up into his embrace. 

Without even thinking, her arms wrapped around his strong neck. Breathing heavily, her head fell to his shoulder, inhaling to smell of smoke, dirt and earth. A new sort of sense of home. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, hoisting her up to hold her a little more comfortable in his arms. “You’re a goddamn mess.” She didn't know when he grabbed ahold of it, but she felt as he draped his abandoned coat and shirt over her, a little skewed, didn't do much in regards to warming her up. But it was the thought that counted. 

Though absolutely exhausted, drained from any prior energy, she managed to murmur, “Don’t let me fall asleep.” She ignored the comment about her being a mess. She knew that already. 

“Why?” he asked. Then, a little softer, meant only for himself. “It might make the trip back to camp a little more tolerable if you just did.” 

Clarke would've rolled her eyes if they weren't already closed. “Shut up.”

“I thought you wanted me to talk.” 

She growled, because yeah, she did. God, he was so annoying, especially when he was right. 

He huffed a laugh, obviously highly amused at the whole situation. “So why is it that I must endure a conversation with you?” 

“I have a head injury. If I fall asleep, I might not wake up.”

Clarke expected him to reply with a snarky, sarcastic comment about how he’d enjoy the silence, how they'd have one less mouth to feed, one less traveller to keep an eye on. That’s why she was so taken aback when he voiced his reply. 

“That’s rough.” He paused, seemingly deep in thought as they trekked through the overgrown path that Clarke had followed to get to the waterfall in the first place. “How do you know about all this stuff, anyway?” 

“I use to study the human body. All our different parts, different functions. It’s interesting, you know?”

Bellamy gave another huff of a laugh, something he did a lot. “Funnily enough, I don’t.” He took a breath. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” 

“You should.” 

Unintentionally, Clarke shivered against him, but instead of Bellamy scoffing and announcing that she should've just done what he said, shedding the nightgown that currently clung to her sodden skin and put on his coat. But instead, he surprised her once more, holding her a little tighter against him, hoping that the warmth that naturally radiated off of him would transfer to her too. 

“You know,” Bellamy spoke up after prolonged period of silence, something Clarke had already advised against. But she had managed to stay awake none the less, so it didn't matter all that much. “I can’t imagine a blacksmith’s wife studying the anatomy of the human body in her spare time. The concept just seems a little odd to me.” There was something in his tone that suggested he was fishing for answers, an almost challenge.

It was only inevitable that this was going to come up at one point or another. 

Clarke frowned, then sighed. “You and I both know that I wasn't a blacksmith’s wife. You’re smarter than that.” 

“And so she admits it,” he murmured, and though she wasn't looking at him, she could hear his smile. “So what are you? I’m dying to know.” 

It took her a few moments to answer, too pensive to reply immediately. In all honesty, she didn't really know who she was either. Princess Claudette? Clarke? Runaway? Traveller. 

“I’m a traveller,” she managed to announce with a relative conviction. “Just like you.” 

“We are not the same.” 

Clarke knew the comment was meant to hurt, but only sighed and breathed him in. “We are, Bellamy. You’re just choosing not to believe it.” She only just noticed that was was playing with a loose thread that frayed from the collar of his shirt that was slung over his shoulder, twirling it between her fingers idly. Surely Bellamy would've felt the soft caress of skin, bare skin brushing every so often. But he never commented, not once. 

Instead, they trekked further along the path, the lack of conversation filled filled with the crunching of leaves, the inhale and exhale of air, and the wind gently rustling the smallest of branches. It was nice, not what Clarke had advised, but nice none the less. 

Well, it was relatively nice until Bellamy made a shocking, scarily truthful accusation. It came from nowhere, stunned her immediately upon delivery. “If you and I were so alike, that’d make me royalty.” 

Time stopped, her heart dropping.

“What did you say?” Clarke breathed, terrified. It was getting increasingly harder to breathe. 

Bellamy didn't look at her, didn't slow. Just kept on walking. “That’s what you are, isn't it, Princess?”

She hated that word. Hadn't heard it in so long and absolutely loved have no affiliation with such a title. Now, hearing it slip from his lips like venom, she hated him even more. 

“How?” The blonde gritted out, seething. “I never said a word to anyone.”

“Didn’t have to,” he replied back ever so easily. “I—“ he paused, collecting himself before starting once more with a tad more confidence. “Word travels fast when a princess goes missing. Doesn't matter how far away you get from the castle, missing royalty is kind of a big deal.” 

Clarke closed her eyes, willing her lower lip to not quiver. “How did you know it was me?”

“Oh, come on.” Bellamy hoisted her up a little more comfortably in his arms, and though she hated him, she was still grateful that he at least thought about her. “Blonde hair, blue eyes. Goes missing roughly the same time that you decide to show up.” He spared her just a quick glance before averting it. “It doesn't take a genius, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” Angry, Clarke pulled roughly at the thread, not giving a damn if it ripped a whole in his stupid shirt.

Bellamy frowned. “That’s what you are, isn't it?” 

“You’re a dick, but I don't call you that to your face, do I?” Clarke managed to murmur, surprised to hear an actual genuine sounding laugh escape from his lips. “So you've known all this time?” she asked, choosing to ignore it.

He clicked his tongue. “Pretty much.” 

Clarke couldn't believe it. All this time, he had seen right through her little white lies, and had said nothing. All he portrayed was that he didn't believe her cheating husband story, that her accent hadn't matched where she had claimed to come from. Little did she know that Bellamy knew everything. Every. Single. Thing. 

“So why let me stay?” Clarke asked, suddenly extremely curious. “You know that I’m a princess, that my presence in this camp is a major risk to everyone’s safety. You're constantly complaining that you have to babysit me, that you have to feed me. And you're smart enough to know that you could probably receive a hefty reward for returning me home safely.”

Swallowing the heavy lump, she tried to be demanding, though she wasn't exactly sure if it came out that why.

“Why are you letting me stay, Bellamy? Why haven't you said anything?” 

She watched as he clenched his jaw, the muscle tight and flickering. He did that a lot. It was like he had so much to say, everything building up inside him, but he constantly fought to keep everything at bay, giving himself time to process the words before delivering what he believed was acceptable.

“I guess we all have our secrets, Claude.” 

As though someone decided to stand directly on her chest, gifting them all of their weight, Clarke gasped as she struggled to gather even enough oxygen to function. “Put me down,” managed to squeeze out, completely and utterly broken, panting to push through the extraneous process. “Now!” 

To any normal person listening to this conversation, they might've thought that Clarke was having a complete overreaction. Claude was just another name. Similar to Clarke, but not the same. However, the mention of such nickname spun her whole world on its axis. 

See, to the world she was known as Princess Claudette. Nothing more, nothing less. Claudette was a young woman, destined to rule, a little on the stubborn side, but still respectable. To her new traveller family, she was known as Clarke. A runaway wife, a little mysterious, had some weird customs and behaviours that they thought were a little odd, but she was welcomed. Close to loved.

However, there was those rare few, people who had a special place in her heart, that knew that the nickname Claude even existed. It was like a secret, something she shared when she developed complete trust and love towards the recipient. Those who called her Claude didn't view her as a princess, as royalty. She was just a girl. And she loved it.

The thing was, she hadn't been called Claude in years. She’d ran out of people to trust.

Bellamy did as he was told, gently guiding her feet to the ground. And the second she could, Clarke scrambled away from him, gaining enough distance to finally catch a breath. 

“Spy?” It was just a murmur, so soft that even Clarke would've struggled to hear it. 

Bellamy did though, but she was not expecting such a heartbroken glance in response, shoulders slumping as he let out a defeated sigh. “No, Claude.”

“Clarke,” the blonde corrected, a little louder. Her chest was still heaving, her breaths still a little ragged. But she managed to stand her ground none the less. “It’s Clarke.”

Another sigh. “Clarke.” It was the first time she had heard him call her that. It was always Blondie, like he knew that that wasn't her name, and never intended on using her fake title. He never fed into her lies.

“Then what are you?” she asked. “Why do you know so much about me?” 

“Lucky guess.” 

“Bullshit!” Such use of profanity from her end normally would've made her feel uneasy, but now she just didn't care. She was freaked out. “Who are you?” 

Bellamy’s eyes fluttered shut, his own chest heaving as he tried composing himself. It took a moment, but she waited patiently, too intrigued to attempt interrupting his thought process. When his eyes opened, she was staring at him, expecting an answer that he seemingly didn't want to give up very easily. 

“I’m—“ 

“Uncle Bell!” 

Ethan and Madi burst through the shrubbery, annoyingly bright and cheerful for such an early hour. They’d obviously just woken up, still clad in their nightclothes with wild, knotted hair. It took only a few leaps before they both crashed into him like they hadn't seen him in months, smiling up at their uncle with their childish grins. 

“Hey guys,” he murmured down at the kids, trying to smile but overall it came out a little shaky. “Sleep well?”

They nodded enthusiastically, delving into explaining and disputing each others dreams. All the while, Clarke just stood there, silently seething that they were interrupted, that she didn't get her answer.

It was Madi who noticed Clarke’s presence first, turning around to offer up a very blunt observation. “You’re bleeding.” 

Clarke sighed, tired, though still grateful that the child was the one to remind her. “I am.” Clarke too tried for a smile, but like Bellamy’s, it was inherently weak. 

“What happened?” Ethan asked, still not letting go of Bellamy’s legs though concerned all the same. 

The blonde put it simply, not wanting to frighten the youngsters before her. “I fell.” 

“Did Uncle Bell save you?” 

She saw the hopeful glint in each of their eyes, like they were expecting some sort of magical answer that would fulfil all their childhood dreams. Not wanting to crush them and also not wanting to lie, Clarke told them the simple truth, even if it killed her to admit it. “Yeah,” she shot him a quick glance. “He did.” 

The children began to giggle, like it was some sort of private joke between them. Clarke would've smiled at the interaction if it wasn't for the piercing pain that throbbed at her skull. She was growing more and more lightheaded too, despite attempts to push the urge away. It was like her body was trying to remind her that she was, in fact, still injured and in need of some sort of aid. 

She tried suppressing the pain, pretending it didn't exist. She failed.

Bellamy must’ve noticed her grimace, because his shaky happiness returned immediately back to concern. “You okay?” he asked her, more gentle than he had been earlier. 

“Fine,” she gritted out, took a step away from the group, then stumbled. She was a bad liar. It was common knowledge by now.

Her vision was starting to become blurry, her body giving up. And instead of fighting this time, she just let it. Bellamy, as always, came to her rescue anyway. He hoisted her back up into his arms, ordered the children to go ahead and call for help, before walking at a much faster pace to try and make it back to camp before she completely passed out. 

“You never answered my question,” Clarke only just managed to point out, weaker and weaker with every syllable she had to form. 

Clarke heard him sigh, heard him falter, and then heard his very vague, very confusing answer before everything faded to black. “You use to call me Bee.” 

***

When Clarke stirred what she thought was later that day, she noticed one of two things. Her head still throbbed though definitely not as bad before. It was more like a dull pain, persistent and annoying, though still tolerable. She brought her fingers to the wound, finding a bandage covering the gash instead. Thus, one, someone had been to her aid, had patched her up in an attempt to make her better. That, she was extremely grateful for. 

And two, she wasn't in the normal tent she shared with Octavia. The furs she was enveloped in were softer than her own, larger too. Also, instead of canvas walls surrounding her, there was wooden. And instead of wind chimes and dreamcatchers hanging above her, there was a macrame basket, filled with apples, and unlit candles and a book. 

Bellamy’s carriage. She was in Bellamy’s carriage.

But that factor seemed so insignificant in Clarke’s clustered head. 

It was the book that caught her eye. 

Clarke sat up and took ahold of the object, quite surprised at the heftiness of it. It was covered in a deep red leather, the stitches and seams a little wonky. Clearly done by hand. Carefully opening up the cover she traced her fingers over the printed title, the words sounding so foreign, but at the very same time intriguing. 

_”The Iliad and the Odyssey,”_ she breathed, getting a thrill over how poetic it sounded. 

The princess hadn't missed much whilst on the run. Didn't miss the strict routine. Didn't miss her parents. Didn't miss being waited on hand and foot. Hell, she didn’t even miss her own bed. The one with the softest of pillows, the silkiest of sheets, the thickness of the mattress. But what she did miss was the library, the books that she would dive into when all other avenues of fun were blocked off. 

The carriage door creaked open just as she was settling herself in for the chapter, Clarke looking up to find Bellamy almost startled to see her awake. 

“Oh thank God,” he stumbled, features soft. “You’re up.” Then, noticing the book in her hands, those same features hardened. “Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to go through peoples stuff without asking.” He snatched the book from her, then inspected it closely like she had destroyed the pages since it had been in her procession. 

Clarke sighed, slumping back the hard wall. So much for turning a new leaf. 

The question of how exactly she knew him was still on her lips, begging to break free. But at the same time, she was almost scared of knowing the answer. So she just pushed that urge away and told it to come back when the timing was right.

“You feeling better?” he asked her after he had placed the book back into its rightful place, still with a hint of grit in his tone.

Humming, she nodded. 

“Good.” 

There was a lull in conversation as she felt Bellamy’s eyes on her, like he was examining her, taking her all in. When she looked up and caught him in the act, he quickly averted his gaze. 

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he said, ignoring the fact that he had just been blatantly staring at her just a few moments ago. “I’m guessing you're hungry.” 

And as if on cue, her stomach began to growl, low and guttural like a disturbed beast.

Bellamy cracked a smile. “I hope you like seafood.” 

“Seafood?” she echoed, frowning. Don’t get her wrong, Clarke loved seafood. It was a delicacy in the castle, being inland it took the quickest of riders to deliver the seafood fresh. That’s why they usually feasted on it when they were visiting allies, allies that were waterside. It was a treat. 

But that wasn't what Clarke was marvelling at. The last she remembered, they too were inland. Too far inland to indulging in such things as crabs and clams and saltwater fish. 

Bellamy, sensing her confusion, jumped back out of the cart and opened up the door wider. And her world spun. Right in front of them, stretching on for miles and miles, was the ocean. They were camping on a beach, on the edge of the world. And Clarke hadn't even realised. 

“How long was I asleep for?” she asked him, bewildered. 

“Three days.” 

It was mind boggling, breathless out of sheer shock. “And I’ve been in here the entire time we’ve been travelling?” 

He nodded, then added to make sure of a point he deemed very important. “I slept outside every night.” Bellamy grew hesitant, something she still wasn't entirely use to seeing by him. “Don’t think…” 

“I didn’t,” Clarke cut in. Then, sincerely meaning it. “Thank you.” 

The man that once seemed so hardened nodded, something like a blush settling on his tanned cheeks. One thing was for certain, he was inherently soft. She could see right through his hardened armour. 

Now she just had to figure out who he was.

 

***

The beach was magical, a musical masterpiece. Each element was a part of the orchestra. The crashing of waves, the rustle of the wind, the crunching of the sand. They all played their part and aided in the marvellous experience, putting on a show. 

Clarke learnt to forage with Madi and Ethan in the rock pools. Which creatures to avoid, which could kill you. She learnt the best way to remove a stubborn mussel from its perch, what the perfect size was for eating. They instructed her on the correct way to hold an angry crab, a lesson that came a little too late, a sizeable nip taken from the web in-between her fingers acting as a reminder. 

She learnt from Jasper and Monty which plants were edible and delicious, full of nutrients. Which were sweet, eaten and to be enjoyed on their own. Which ones were a little bitter raw, that needed to be cooked in order for them to live up to their full glory. And most importantly, in their opinion, she learnt which plants could be rolled into little cylinders and smoked, giving them some sort of feeling in-between a buzz and a calm and warm sensation. 

Clarke was too hesitant to try it though, not that it mattered. 

_More for us,_ they had said, sharing the joint between them. _Maybe next time, yeah?_

She loved how welcoming everyone in the group was. They never forced her to do anything she didn't want to do, they didn't coerce her. They just let her be. 

Lincoln spent a whole afternoon teaching her how to build and start a fire from scratch. Even when her spark died and when nothing would alight, he was patient with her, with the whole process. It took a lot of coaching, of words of encouragement and of quick pointers. But eventually, after too long a time, she started one. A strong one too.

Clarke beamed, proud as ever when dinner was cooked over her creation that night. She fed it more than she should've though, because Lincoln had to tell her to ease off towards the end of the night. But Clarke didn't want to see it die. It was her baby now, she’d made it. 

“You don't want to burn the camp down now, do you, Clarke?” Octavia asked, snuggling into Lincoln’s side. 

Clarke pouted, though ultimately knew that they were right. “No.” 

“You can make another fire tomorrow,” Lincoln laughed, humbled by her reaction. “But you've got to let this one die out.” 

She did as she was told, never feeding it another log, but she refused to move before it fully withered away. A loyal royal by its dying subject’s side. Everyone else had gone off to bed, not fully understanding what Clarke was trying to accomplish. 

Everyone had gone except Bellamy.

“Hey,” he announced himself, dropping onto the log beside her. “Nice fire.” 

“Thanks,” she muttered, still a little upset that she had to watch it go. 

Bellamy had been a little distant the whole time they had called this beach their camp, sticking to his own devices as he went about his life. He’d barely even shot her a glance most of the time, almost as if he was pretending she wasn't there. Stuck in his own head. Which was why she was a little surprised when he dropped down beside her, being the first to start up the conversation. But there was a lull when he seemingly didn't know what to say next, so they both just stared at the starving fire with an odd sort of contentment. 

“So you've been learning a lot lately,” Bellamy started after the drawn out silence. Was he trying to small talk her? 

Clarke nodded, wiping her palms down the length of her thighs. “Yeah.” 

“Do you like it here?” 

Sneaking a glance at him, she noted the way he seemed somewhat nervous, like he balancing on a tightrope. “Of course,” she told him, stopping herself from frowning. “I love it here. There’s so much to do.” 

He hummed, pensive. 

“Why?” she asked him softly, eyeing him. “Why are you asking me?” 

“I was thinking, um—“ he mirrored her, doing the very same action, wiping his hands down the full lengths of his knees. “Well, the kids taught you about how to forage the rock pools. Jasper and Monty taught you about plants and…drugs, I guess. And Lincoln taught you how to make that,” he pointed to where the flames licked the wood. “I was thinking, I mean if you want, maybe I could teach you how to spear fish.” 

Clarke couldn't help but smile a little. He was nervous about spending time with her. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked her, underlying hopeful. 

And she would've said yes, she was honestly thinking about it. But then she began thinking about the last time she was near water, the near death experience that knocked her out for three days. That body of water was calmer than the ocean was, and still it almost took her. It was so deadly and she hadn't even realised the threat. 

In all these days on the beach, she hadn't dared swim with the others in even the shallows. Firstly, because she didn't know how to swim in the first place. And secondly, she was so scared of ducking beneath the waves and not resurfacing, that the beauty of it didn't outweigh the danger. 

“Maybe not,” she told him, hating how his face dropped in disappointment. 

“Oh.” Simplistic. Hurt. Heartbreaking.

“I mean—“ Clarke started, trying to fix her mistake. But it was seemingly too late. 

“No,” he hardened, standing up. “It’s fine. It was a stupid question anyway.” The walls were back up, seemingly bigger and stronger than ever, and as he slunk away he ignored her calls for him to come back. Instead, he just stalked away into the night, a young man crushed by simple miscommunication. 

***

It was like stepping on eggshells when she was around him now. For two full weeks an icy wall separated them, and whilst Clarke tried her best to smash at the walls with a pick, trying to at least create a crack to work through, Bellamy was throwing more water in its place, letting it freeze over. 

He was so hard to understand sometimes, like he could never decide whether or not he wanted her to be his friend or not. 

They moved away from the beach, much too Clarke’s dismay, when they spotted a ship heading for the mainland and it was deemed too risky to stay. Collectively, it was decided that they should travel further down south, making the most of the warm weather. 

So that’s what they did.

It grew more acceptable to wear less and less, and the princess was actually liking going against all she knew and showing more skin. She wore singlets instead of sleeves now, wore skirts that ended mid thigh. And she loved it, the sun on her skin, how open and alive and exhilarated it made her feel. 

Her skin began to darken too, not as much as everyone else’s, but enough that she could noticeably see the tan lines that had been marred onto her. And Clarke’s blonde hair lightened, turning more whiter than yellow as it got bleached by the sun. 

It was one midday, the sweltering sun giving the earth’s inhabitants no mercy, when Octavia piped up with a suggestion. “Clarke, have you ever thought about cutting your hair?” 

She looked up from where she was peeling a potato, taking in the question. Clarke had let Madi and some of the other women add all types of beads and braids into her locks whenever she had complained of it being too heavy, making her neck all sweaty, in an attempt to offer some comfort and protection from the heat. But she had never actually pondered giving it all the snip, chopping away all that she knew. 

Because for a long time, her hair was what has defined her. Ever since she could remember her hair had been long, and curly, and beautiful. It was the source of most of the compliments she had ever received, and she liked it that way. It made her feel unique. 

But now, living this new life, it was probably was time for a change, a fresh beginning. The heat relief was just an added bonus. What’s more, though they hadn't encountered any guards searching for the lost princess recently, but maybe if her hair was shorter, they’d pass her by.

Maybe.

So she sat down on the edge of a cart, gave the go ahead before she could second guess herself and screwed her eyes shut. She didn't really trust Octavia with her rusty scissors and carefree approach at going about this, but she was still grateful that it was getting done. 

_Live a little_ , she had to keep reminding herself whenever the doubt would creep in. _It’ll grow back. You’ll be fine._

The brunette announced that she was finished just as some of the group came back from the village, crowding around to see what all the fuss was about. “What do you guys think?” she asked, brushing away the hairs that stubbornly still stuck to Clarke’s shoulder’s and neck. “Good, huh?” 

“It’s crooked.” The blonde opened her eyes to find Bellamy standing before her, hands on hips as he stared. “Did you even try, O?” 

A deep hue of red settled on her cheeks. Did she really look that bad? 

“Oh shut up, Bell,” his sister retorted. “You just have high standards.” 

He clicked his tongue, eyes meeting hers. Whenever he did that, her heart always dropped then stopped all together. The type of blue they housed did something to her, something he couldn't quite put her finger on. It was a weird mixture between apprehension, excitement and admiration. And she hated that she made him feel that way, because she was meant to be strong too, she could handle anything. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he held out his hand. “Give me the scissors.” 

***

There was such a simplistic, beautiful feeling in the air at dusk. Everything was golden, like a gift that the sun gave just before it called it a night. The air seemed lazy, the wind and temperature at a blissful low. There was something so very comforting about the ambience, the mood. 

Clarke had developed this habit of taking a stroll around the surrounds of the newest camp they had just set up. She did it alone, always alone. It was better that way. A way to clear her head, remind that this was actually happening. That she was now a traveller, that she was never to be confined to a particular dwelling ever again. So free. Scary sure, but free. 

So that’s what she was doing, grounding herself just that little bit in order to not fully lose her mind. The area they were currently staying in was on flatter ground, having discovered it a mere three hours ago after what felt like months on the road, not many dips and rises in the terrain. Octavia told her earlier that it was risky, being so exposed. On flat ground there was nowhere to hide, nowhere really to run.

But she didn't care. 

Taking a deep breath, she filed her lungs with that lazy air. Content, she wanted to stay out here forever. She loved the summer, she had decided. It was her favourite season. 

Of course, the contentment didn't last. 

The quiet ambience was ruined by the sound of nearby shouting, the heavy trot of racing horses and one very distinct voice above the commotion. “Dammit,” a pause, like he was trying to gather up enough energy to scream at the top of his lungs, “Blondie! Where the hell are you?” 

Bellamy. What the hell did he want? 

In all honesty, she thought about ignoring him. They really weren't on the best of terms, constantly bickering and arguing over the simplest of things. But he sounded genuinely concerned with just a hint of terror etched in his voice, with the shouting and galloping growing increasingly louder and closer aiding in the direness of the situation. Something was wrong. This wasn't something she could ignore.

So Clarke just frowned, quickly scanned her surrounds, then called out with a matched tone and pitch. “Here!” 

It didn't take long before he and his horse thundered onto the path she was following, halting before her as both creatures struggled for breath and composure. “Get on,” Bellamy ordered, thrusting out his arm for her to grasp onto. When she hesitated, opening her mouth to ask what the hell was going on, he just growled and cut her off completely. “Now!” 

Clarke swallowed her apprehension, took a quick breath then grabbed onto him. Instantly she was lifted up onto the horse with ease, like she weighted nothing more than a feather.

“Hold on.” With only a second warning, Bellamy had snapped the rein, the horse giving a disgruntled and annoyed huff in return before taking off in a sprint deeper into the forest. Clarke let out a surprised squeal at the jolt, barely staying on the creature. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life, screwing her eyes shut and pressing her cheek into the vast planes of his back. 

She was terrified to be alone and so close to him, but if the sounds of an angry mob on their heels were anything to go by, she should've been scared of them more. So she just sucked it up and dealt with it.

It was around the ten minute mark, with Bellamy effortlessly weaving the horse through the most confusing path, did the shouts and party that were once directly on their heels disperse, becoming fainter and fainter with every step the horse took. At the fifteen minute mark, they had stopped all together.

That’s when Bellamy finally allowed the horse to drop his pace to a trot. It was also then that he also decided to speak up for the first time in a long while, clearly angry. “You can’t just fucking run off, okay? It’s dangerous out here. You stay near camp.” 

Clarke opened her eyes then loosened her grip around him. It had probably been a little tighter than it had ought to be, but she had been absolutely terrified, especially with the prospect of falling off a moving horse. “I’m not a child,” she gritted out, peeved that he even had the audacity to say such a thing. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“Apparently you do, Blondie.” She frowned and opened her mouth to retaliate, but before she had the chance to do so, he added, “Let me just say, if it wasn't for me saving your ass just then, you’d be dead. Or worse.” She heard him swallow, like he was deciding wether or not to continue on with this conversation. “Villagers aren't the biggest fans of travellers,” he decided upon. “No one is. You stray too close to a farmer’s land, and they will retaliate.” 

Clarke gulped. She knew the world was cruel, though didn't understand the extent of it until she had joined this band. “So much for freedom, huh?” she breathed, not realising it was louder than she intended until her company huffed something that resembled a laugh. 

“This is as close as you'll get.” 

She took a deep breath, trying and failing to calm herself still. Taking a look around, she discovered that the once flat terrain they originally were camping upon was no where in sight, the ground instead turning much more hilly, more crowed in with trees, and caves, and rocky mounds. “Bellamy, where are we?” Then, a little more louder and concerned. “Where’s camp?” 

“Gone.” 

All the air left her lungs as all the colour drained from her face. “What?” she breathed. 

Bellamy, noticing her reaction, must’ve realised how the comment sounded, because he clarified almost instantly. “They’re not dead, Blondie. They fled.” 

“Oh.” Thank god.

“I was about to leave too before some of the girls realised that you weren't back yet,” he explained. “I told them all to leave while I went after you.” 

Well that was…genuinely nice of him. And here she was thinking he was just a total jackass who’d be completely ecstatic if they just left her in their wake, never to be seen again. Bellamy offering to rescue her when he knew full well that if he left her, he would be off the hook? That, to her, sounded like false information. But who was she to judge?

“Sorry,” she heard herself murmuring without actually thinking. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over her. “I’m just a dead weight, aren't I?” 

It was his reply that surprised her the most. He sighed, but it wasn't the exasperated sort. It sounded sad if anything, a little broken. “You’re not a dead weight, Blondie.” He snapped the reign gently when the horse became too dormant, moving it on. “A nuisance, sure. But not a dead weight.”

After a pregnant pause, she pondered aloud. “You know, I don't understand you at all. You act like you hate me, but you've saved me twice now. Why?”

It took Bellamy a little longer to respond than usual. “I don't hate you,” he managed to grumble. 

Clarke frowned, just plain confused. He was always hot then cold, calm then a full on raging storm. Bellamy was just someone that she couldn't pinpoint, couldn't read. And she absolutely hated it. She always prided herself on judging someones character upon first meeting. It was her greatest talent. A talent that Bellamy was currently making a mockery of. 

So she dropped the subject, almost scared to where it may lead. 

“Where are we going?” she decided upon instead. “Is there a meeting place?” 

“Rhoda Ridge.” He looked up at the sky, now just noticing how in the midst of their chase the sun had called it a day, the only light now being the diminishing one on the horizon. “It takes roughly a day and a half to get there. We’ll have to stop.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Yes, Blondie,” he replied easily. “Tonight. We’ll keep going until I find us somewhere safe, but this horse needs to rest pretty soon. So no complaints.” 

Clarke huffed. “I wasn't complaining.” 

“You thought about it.”

She hated when he was right. 

***

The wood crackled as the flames ate away at it, flickering embers escaping its hold as rose up to the night sky. It was a relatively cool night, so Clarke was sitting closer to the fire than she normally did, soaking up the warmth as she presented her hands to the heat. 

They had stopped an hour ago, the horse refusing to take another step. Luckily, it was in an area that Bellamy deemed safe enough. He dismounted the horse, pulled her down, asked her if she was capable of utilising her new talent and make them a fire, then sauntered off to find them some dinner.

So she was left to her own devices. Her only company was a sleepy horse and an unintelligible fire. 

It was nice, an eery undertone, but nice none the less. It felt like her first night on the run, though now she had grown, had changed. She wasn't exactly the scared little girl she had been before. She’d flourished into… a relatively less scared woman. There had been other changes of course, being less rigid, showing more skin, cutting her hair to shoulder length. But overall, there was nothing drastically different about her. Despite everyone’s best efforts, at times, she still felt like an outsider.

A thud just before her snapped her out of her daze. “Dinner,” Bellamy announced, and as her eyes drifted down to find a rabbit carcass laying before her. 

She tired to not screw her nose up at it, but its dead eyes were open and unseeing, staring right at her. 

“The princess disapproves.” 

Looking up, she found Bellamy pursing his lips, eyes slanted. 

“I told you not to call me that.” 

“If the shoe fits—“ 

“I’m not hungry,” she gritted out, cutting him off. “Eat it yourself.” 

Bellamy huffed in annoyance, picking up the rabbit before sitting down on the other side of the fire. Clarke watched as skilfully skinned and prepared the meat, hanging it from a stake. She absolutely hated how nice it smelt once it began to roast, and how smug Bellamy looked when she glared at him. 

“So are you going to tell me?” she asked, clicking her tongue. There was no better time than now. No interruptions, no disturbances. Just her, him and the truth. 

“Tell you what?” He replied, oblivious. 

Taking a deep breath, she brought her knees up to her chest, putting her guard up. “How do you know me, Bellamy?” 

She watched as his jaw clenched, poking at the fire growing increasingly more force. She couldn't understand why this was such a touchy subject, he was the one who had brought it up in the first place. 

“Look,” Clarke spoke up. “I can see that this topic upsets you, or makes you angry, or makes you whatever. But you’ve got to understand how strange this is for me, how freaked out I am. You know everything about me, but it feels like you're a stranger to me. Why?”

He stared at her, the flames of the fire mirrored in his eyes. It might've just been an illusion, but it also seemed as though there was a layer of liquid coating them. Was he crying? 

“You were young,” he replied after a good while, voice just a little strained. “It was stupid of me to think you would've remembered me.” 

Clarke frowned. She had never ventured beyond the castle until the age of seven, and she remembered a lot of that particular journey. Actually, she remembered a lot of her childhood. But if he knew her when she was younger, that must’ve meant that he lived behind the walls with her. 

That couldn't be right, could it?

Bellamy must’ve noticed her trying to work it out, because he provided her more information in an attempt to jog her memory. “When you were younger and misbehaving, the Queen would punish you by sending you down to eat your meals in the servants quarters, more specifically in the kitchen.” 

Clarke nodded mutely, knowing that ‘punishment’ all too well.

Bellamy continued. “Well, my mother was a kitchen aid. You and her were close. You were always fascinated by how precisely she could crack an egg, how quickly she could peel and cut all types of vegetables. And I kind of envied your relationship. Because here I was, stuck in the village with my grandmother whilst some princess got my mother all to herself.” 

“So that’s why you hate me? I took your mother from you?” 

He growled, clearly annoyed that she was interrupting him, or that she had it so wrong. “I’ve told you that I don't hate you, Claude.”

Pursing her lips, she dug her nails into the skin of her knees, pushing down the urge to fight him on once again dropping that nickname. “Go on,” she managed to grit out instead. “Tell me more.” 

He sighed before commencing. “When my mother had O, she couldn't support us all on just one income anymore. So I started going into work with her, I became the bakers assistant. I’d just be finishing my shift when you’d be sent downstairs for breakfast. Sure, I thought you were annoying at first.” He smirked at her, like it was somewhat embarrassing to admit. “Just a six year old with big opinions that couldn’t let a single second of silence pass, always filling it up with a question that you demanded to be answered. But things change.” 

Clarke couldn't help but smile at that, even if she necessarily didn't want to. Bossy then, bossy now. 

At the same time though, it was a weird sort of feeling. She knows him. He knows her. And they were…close. Really close, apparently. They shared a childhood together. 

The more he talked about it though, the times that they had spent together, more and more glimpses of recognition and memories started to come back to her. Endless conversations. Classic banter. A genuine friendship and connection. A switch had flicked on in her head, revealing a place that had been showered in darkness for far too long. 

How could she have ever forgotten him?

Those early mornings in the kitchen, devouring her scrabbled eggs on toast as she chatted with whoever would give her the time. Coming down stairs one day to discover a boy sitting in her usual place, her usual chair. Big brown eyes, flour and freckles dusted on his cheeks. She began purposely misbehaving just to spend her mornings with him, her newfound friend from the outside world.

“Bee,” she breathed. Because oh god, she remembered now. 

Calling him Bee because Bellamy was hard to say with her two front teeth missing. Marvelling at his intelligence because he was older than her, he knew so much more about the world than she did. Finding his stories mesmerising. The only entertainment she ever needed. 

Learning from his mother…Anne? April? Aurora. Learning from Aurora how to make the perfect omelette, how to crack an egg, how to cut vegetables safely and quickly. Clarke disputing with Bellamy when he told her she was doing it all wrong, that this was the correct way to peel a potato. 

_“Stubborn as a mule,” Aurora had said, ruffling her curls with a bright smile on her lips. “Don’t ever change, your highness.”_

Bellamy would stick his tongue out at her, though dissolved into a fit of laughter when his mother had to explain to the young royal that she was actually doing it wrong, that Bellamy’s technique was actually the right way. 

And most of all, she remembered not understanding why she arrived one morning only to find that Bee and his mother were gone, another member of staff telling her that they wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. They had a sort of harsh tone when they talked about them too, something Clarke couldn't decipher at such a young age. To her, it just felt as though she was abandoned. 

She was heartbroken for all of a month before her father got a new advisor, and Wells filled the void that Bee and his mother left. 

From across the fire, Bellamy seemed to have sensed where her memory had faltered, where her story had ended. Something that resembled a tear trickled from his eye, but he wiped it away before it had even trickled halfway down his cheek, seemingly angry that it even had the audacity to drop in the first place. 

“Why did you leave me?” she found herself whispering, trying to stop her chin from trembling. 

“It wasn't a choice, Clau—“ Clarke put her hand up to stop him from using that nickname, the memories now entirely too bittersweet. “Clarke,” he corrected, wringing his hands together. 

“Then what?” she asked, louder, more demanding. 

He seemingly thought it through in his head, torn between telling her the hard truth or a softer version of it. 

“Tell me, Bellamy.” 

He threw the stick that he had originally been using to poke at the fire straight in, a force a little too hard for Clarke’s liking. “It was coming up to my mother’s birthday, and I had told you one morning that I didn't have enough money to buy her anything nice.” He took a deep breath. “You came back the next day with a necklace you claimed you didn't want anymore, that you thought my mother might like, and like the idiot I was, I took it.”

Bracing herself, she squeezed her knees tighter against her. 

“I’m not calling you out,” he reiterated. “I should've known better. I was older, you were naive. But I ended up taking it back home to her. Of course, she knew immediately that it was from the castle, that you must’ve gave it to me.”

Clarke watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, and somehow she knew where this was going.

“She took me by the shoulders, told me that she was very grateful and that she loved me, but I needed to give the necklace back to you immediately, secretly. I didn't really understand at first, but agreed. And I tired, I really did try to get it back to you. But a castle guard caught me with it in my hands as I tried to get back through the gates and accused me of stealing.”

Her heart dropped.

“Instead of explaining the whole situation, I just choked. I couldn't say anything. I could barely even breathe, I was that scared.” 

She didn't even try stop her chin from quivering now. 

Bellamy didn't stop though, he just kept on going. She heard him sniffle though, so it was affecting him too. For obvious reasons. “I bolted. Well, I tried anyway,” he admitted. “Didn’t make it far.” He pushed more tears away, still angry. “When my mother heard of my arrest, she took the blame. No one was going to believe the real story anyway. We were just servants, we weren't even meant to be interacting with royalty down in the kitchen, let alone taking gifts from then.” A pause, then, “So they convicted her of theft and…” 

All of the air left Clarke’s lungs, completely shattered. She needn't ask what happened to Aurora afterwards. 

She knew all too well. 

Bellamy clicked his tongue, cheeks damp, staring at her. “I blamed you for a while, but…” he started before drifting off, giving her a sad sort of smile. “It wasn't your fault…you were trying to help. You were being kind. My background just clashed with yours, and things went wrong.” 

“Our grandmother looked after us for a while but when she passed, I couldn't stand being in the village anymore. So I just grabbed O and ran, joined a travelling group and never looked back.”

Numb. That was a good way to describe how she was feeling. Completely and utterly numb. 

“Does that answer your question Clarke?”

Every breath she took was shuddered, shaky and weak as she tried to take everything in. Here she was, thinking that Bee and his mother had abandoned her, when all along she was cause of their downfall, of their disappearance. Like Bellamy’s, her cheeks turned wet, but instead of wiping them clear, she just let them stay. 

Clarke stared into the flames of the fire until her eyes burned. When she finally looked up, brown eyes met hers, and her body convulsed in a sob. “I’m sorry,” she choked, hugging her knees even closer because she didn't know what else to do with her hands. “I-I-I—” 

She heard him sigh, heard him rise then heard him drop down beside her. For a while, he did or said nothing, like he was contemplating whether or not he should have even ventured over here in the first place. 

But then she snuck him a side glance, and the armour he usually hid behind slipped when their eyes met. His arm settled around her shoulders, a warm presence that she couldn't help but melt into. Reassuring even in the darkest of times. 

“You’re allowed to hate me,” she murmured, chewing her lip. “I don't mind.” 

He pulled her closer, her head falling to his chest. And instead of pulling away, creating more distance between them, she pressed her face to his chest, inhaling deep breaths when he instructed her to. 

“Thanks for the offer,” he told her in between breaths. “But I’m capable of making my own decisions. And for the millionth time, I don’t hate you, okay? I know I have a weird way of showing it,” she could hear him smiling. “But I really like you, Clarke.”

She couldn't help it. Entirely overwhelmed, she cried. 

Clarke cried until there was no more tears left to cry. Her head heart, her eyes growing heavy. Half an hour in and anguish made way for exhaustion. It had been a long, draining day. A day that needed to end. So she just gave way to it and let it.

And as the darkness seeped into her vision that night, her senses were filled with three things. Her nostrils, filled with smell of burnt rabbit charring, completely abandoned and wasted on its stake. Her skin, prickled with the warmth that the fire still gave off. And of him. Of Bellamy, a steady and reassuring presence beneath her. 

Despite being in the middle of nowhere, exposed, with a parade of angry villagers probably scouting these very woods, the princess slept well. Better than she had in a very long time.

***

Things changed between them from then onwards. When they made it to Rhoda Ridge everyone seemingly noticed it. Gone was the wall that just the other day she was trying to destroy. It had melted away with the confession that Bellamy gave.

They knew each other. Something like that couldn't be ignored, especially now that Bellamy had reminded her of it. A shared childhood. Shared memories. It brought them impeccably closer. 

Now, when she had a question to be answered, she’d go to him, and he’d only be happy to oblige. Not only would he answer it, but he’d give a full rundown of whatever she needed knowing, explaining things thoroughly and precisely. 

They were…friends. Well, she thought that anyway. They had found common ground, and Clarke was more than happy to now be close to everyone in camp. 

Well, nearly everyone. 

Murphy still didn't really talk to her. Sometimes he’d ask her to pass him some salt. It wasn't a lot to some, but it kind of meant a lot to her. At least he was acknowledging her presence. 

And as the days drifted past, Clarke grew more and more content with this lifestyle. Sure, it had its challenges. Hygiene was kind of a big one. Normally Clarke would bathe with just a warm cloth in the privacy of her and Octavia’s tent. But on those days when the wrath of her period struck, staying fresh and feeling good was a little harder. 

But she coped. That was the main thing. It wasn't ideal but she coped. 

She absolutely hated not being able to swim and bathe like the others whenever they were camped near a lake, or a river or the ocean. Whenever they’d ask she’d just shake her head and decline, always coming up with some stupid excuse not to go through with it.

Clarke knew that she was hiding from her fear, and not conquering it. But she figured she’d just attempt to venture back out there when she was ready. 

So that was her plan. Wait until she was ready. 

She didn't think today was that day, but hey, this was the life of spontaneity. Nothing was set in stone. 

She sat upon the shore, chin on her knees as she watched Bellamy effortlessly dive beneath the rippled water, letting it all consume him as he became one with it. It was beautiful. Scary somewhat, but beautiful all the same. Because sometimes she’d start to worry when he hadn't come up for air in a while, fearing that the water took him like it had almost taken her all those weeks ago.

However, before she could ever go into full on panic mode, he’d always reemerge, a fair distance away from his starting point, breathless though smiling as he sucked in the oxygen that the river wouldn't allow him. 

It was mesmerising how natural he looked, swimming like the fishes and frolicking about in the deep like those dolphins she had read about as a child. 

“Enjoying the view?” he asked her after he resurfaced, shaking his head, making droplets fly about before falling back into the body they had been taken from. With a mouth full of water, he squirted in all up into the air, like he was a perfectly chiselled fountain statue. 

She rolled her eyes but hummed in agreement none the less, humouring him. “How’d you learn to do that?” 

“Swim?” he asked when all the liquid was expelled.

Clarke nodded. 

“I don’t really know,” Bellamy replied thoughtfully, cupping the water in his hands, watching it trickle steadily back out again. “I spent ages in the shallows, growing confident there. Then I just eventually pushed myself further out until my feet couldn't touch the bottom anymore. And I swam.” 

“That sounds dangerous.” 

He shrugged. “Nothing like a bit of fight or flight to teach you a life lesson.” 

She stared at him, thinking it over in her head. He was reckless, she’d give him that. But that was what she liked about him. He didn't always use his head, was more of a do now, think later kind of guy. It was refreshing. In the castle, there was constant planning. Do this and another region would retaliate, arm this battlefront and leave another wide open. Everything was planned. Even her birth. She was a political baby, not entirely one made of love. Planned and precise, keeping the throne a strong one.

Out here though, in the wild, there wasn't always time to plan. Planning could get you killed if you weren't careful. 

Before she even had back out, to second guess herself, Clarke asked him with a surprising amount of valour, “Will you teach me?” 

Bellamy blinked, looking a little taken aback. Maybe she was asking too much, maybe they weren't there yet. Had she just toppled whatever they were building? 

She opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, but he seemingly gaged that she was being serious and cut in before she even had the chance. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Of course.” 

A content smile fluttered across her lips, an ever nervous butterfly. “Cool.”

He blinked again, opening his arms out as if he was expecting something. 

It took a moment to click. “Oh, you want to start now?” 

Shrugging, he took a step towards her. Open. Inviting. Everything that her younger self had dreamed about behind the walls of the castle. “Whenever you're ready.”

Clarke gulped. She hadn't expected such a definite answer so soon, so eager. 

Bellamy sensed her hesitation almost instantly. “You want to swim, don't you?” 

She nodded. “But—“ 

“But you're scared.” It wasn't menacing nor mocking. He genuinely understood what she was feeling, showing her sympathy without making her feel weak. “Hey,” he rose completely out of the water, meeting her on the shore. She kept her eyes downcast, pushing down her temptations. “I’ll be there the entire time, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Clarke took his hands when he presenting them, pulling her to her feet. 

When she still hadn't looked up, he brought his finger beneath her chin, pushing it upwards until she met his gaze. “Is this something you really want to do?” 

“Yeah.” Noticing that their hands were still joined, she squeezed them. A reassurance. A confirmation. 

He just smiled, as gentle as ever as he motioned his head back towards the water. “Then lets go.”

***

“Clarke?” 

She looked up from where the water lapped gently against her toes. He had already dived right back in, not realising that she hadn't been following him the entire time. Clad in just her bra and underwear, she held her arms around her mid-section, still not entirely use to being this bare out in the open. Bellamy had told her that her dress would just weigh her down the second it got wet, and instead of fighting it like she normally would’ve, she gathered up her courage and did what she had to do. So exposed she was. Exposed and terrified. 

God, why did she have to be so weak? 

She hadn't even noticed Bellamy had come closer until he was standing right before her. “You’ve got this.” 

Clarke, taking a deep breath, nodded. She knew she could. And if she couldn’t, well, she’d fake it until she could make it. 

“Don’t be scared,” Bellamy coaxed, taking her arms gently away from her stomach and taking her by the hands instead, walking her into the shallows. 

She tried not to flinch when he did this, having him so close usually gave her the jitters. With her lack of clothing right now, the reaction was stronger. Surprisingly though, she did a good job of hiding it, playing it off as if she was just reacting to the sharp cold of the water. 

“I know you haven't had the greatest of experiences with bodies of water,” he smiled when she did, like he was proud he could even make her do that. His eyes flittered up to the healing scar, something like guilt washing over him, his smile faltering. 

“It was an accident,” she reminded him, prickles erupting on her skin as they walked deeper. 

He drew his attention back to her eyes, pressing his lips together. 

The water level was above her hips now, and Bellamy must have sensed her trepidation. “We’ll stop here,” he announced. “You can still stand. The ground is just beneath you, okay?” 

“Okay,” she sighed weakly. 

“Put your hand on my shoulders.” 

Clarke smiled. This was like when she was learning to dance, though her instructor had been far more intimidating, far less good looking. Clarke, though not the greatest of dancers, knew that she had learned the basic skills after practice. That she would never forget the simple steps of those ballroom dances, forever etched into her memory. 

It should be the same with swimming, right? She just needed a little bit of faith and courage. 

She did as he said, lifting her hands to grip his shoulders tightly, maybe a little too tightly. But Bellamy only huffed a laugh and kept her there, both hands now drifting to near her hips. They hovered for a while, as if he was silently asking if it was okay, if it was even allowed.

Clarke swallowed then nodded, and they landed. This was probably the closest she had ever been to him, skin on skin, faces just inches apart. Her heart fluttered, and this time it wasn't just because she was scared of drowning. No, this was a different kind of fear. 

Bellamy’s brown eyes bore into hers, like he too was feeling something along the same lines. Rather than acting on it however, he just continued on with whatever he had planned. “Now lift up your feet, use me as an anchor and just float.” 

She lifted one, hesitant. Then, reassuring herself that he was there, that he would keep her safe, she lifted the other. Clarke was suspended in the water now, the only thing keeping her grounded being pushing and gripping hard on Bellamy’s shoulders, and his large hands plastering her sides. 

Unlike before, when she had been gripping onto those rocks in survival mode, she actually allowed herself to relax, enjoy the odd feeling of floating, being suspended in such a treacherous but beautiful body of liquid. 

“There you go,” Bellamy breathed, closer than he had been before. “Not so bad, is it?”

Instead of replying, she just gave a content sigh. She shivered when she felt his fingers smooth across her skin, but instead of it freaking her out like she would've done just days prior, it sparked something else inside her. 

“Do you trust me?” 

A mere yes would've done it, but that spark had ignited a fire. And even though she was surrounded by water, she wouldn't even think about putting it out. “Of course.” 

He smiled. “Put your head back and look at the sky.” 

When she did he gave her no warning, just started to spin around and around in circles. She squealed, gripping onto him tighter but still allowing her legs to trial behind her. Clarke could hear him laughing, genuine and loud as she continued to express her delight. Soaring through water, head in the clouds. It was all a blur, an exhilarating and freeing blur. And she loved absolutely every second of it.

Before too long however, he started to slow. Clarke wanted to protest, to tell him to keep going, but it couldn't have been an easy task. She knew she wasn't the lightest person, and with the dragging weight of the water, it only added to the extraneous work. 

When they stopped all together, well, that’s when Clarke’s world continued on spinning. 

“How was that?” 

Out of breath, she had to gather enough oxygen to reply. “Amazing.”

When he smiled, it was like a burden she hadn't even realised was weighing down on her shoulders was lifted. And she was free. 

“We’ll get you comfortable around water,” he said, eyes searching hers. “Then you can start to swim.” 

Clarke smiled, bright and lively and fully showing off the joy that was bubbling beneath her. She couldn't wait to be as elegant as him beneath the ripples, couldn't wait to explore the underwater world that was beneath them. 

“Okay,” she sighed, still a little breathless. “Sounds like a plan.” 

There were two things Clarke realised she really enjoyed in that moment. The feeling that just enveloped her, a mixture of glee and joy and freedom. And Bellamy’s smile. She really liked it when he did that, his guard down as he just allowed himself to be as carefree and boyish as he wanted. 

Bellamy, having noticed Clarke’s blatant viewing, raised his hand as push away a short lock of hair that draped across her left eye, tucking it behind the ear where he deemed it belonged. There was something so scarily and thrillingly intimate about the action. A splash of sparks exploded upon her skin where his fingertips had caressed her cheek, and her heart swelled. 

He was so close, so open, and Clarke just wanted to capture this moment forever. 

But like all good things that happened in her life, the illusion of perfection was shattered. Because Octavia appeared upon the ridge that sheltered the cove, breathless and wide eyed, though conveying just a hint of relief when she had realised that she had found them both. 

“Riders,” she gave by means of explanation, puffing out scared breaths. And Bellamy strung into action. 

Why could they never just have something good happen to them. Just some blissful time alone. 

“Go,” he ordered, though did so in a hushed voice. He kept a hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the shallow water and up onto the shore. “Get your stuff.” Then, to O. “Are they searching camp?” 

The brunette nodded, sharp and precise. 

“Go and stall them,” he told her, like a top guard giving orders to his cadet. “Do whatever you can, but don't make it obvious.” She nodded again, this time a little more rushed, a little more scared. “Take a deep breath, O, and go.” 

Octavia scurried off, back over the ridge to complete her task. 

“Get dressed,” he said as he started to do the same, hastily throwing on his shorts. 

“What are we going to do?” She pulled her dress back over her soaking undergarments, absolutely hating the feeling when the two stuck together. But now was not the time to be complaining. 

She was growing increasingly panicked with every second that they stayed out in the open. Her free life was on the line here. 

“We’re hiding,” he offered, hushed still. Bellamy thrusted his hand out, and without a second thought she clasped it tightly, holding on for dear life. “Come on,” he said, pulling her away. 

*** 

“In here?” Clarke hissed, standing before a cave mouth, staring into the pitch blackness. 

“Do you want to go back to the castle?” he gritted out in return, and he had a valid point. 

He pushed her into the darkness, where even her shadow dissolved. The rock floor was cold and slimy beneath her feet, definitely not the nicest of places to be spending the foreseeable future, but a safe enough formation that it was hard to spot from the outside, and even harder to spot someone through the black once inside. 

Clarke kept her hand on a wall to guide her inside, her eyes doing her absolutely no good the deeper they got inside. Bellamy always caught her she tripped though, his arm wrapping around her middle and pulling her close to save her from the nasty fall. 

They settled once Bellamy deemed them a safe enough distance inside, shivering in each others hold as they tried to bear both the cold and the intimacy of it all. 

When her teeth started chattering together, and Clarke was powerless to stop it, she felt him take her hands in his, bringing them up to his lips before breathing hot air onto them, making her shiver even more violently. But it wasn't because she was cold now. This was a completely different feeling.

“Maybe I should just go back, let them take me,” Clarke spoke up, because she couldn't deal with those feelings just yet. “I’m just putting a target on the backs of everyone.” 

“No,” Bellamy decided, firm. “What you give to this camp, the way you make everyone feel…it outweighs the risk.” 

She smiled, soft with just a kind of lingering apprehension. “You sure?” 

He didn't answer with words, just pulled her impeccably tighter against and dropped a lingering kiss to her forehead. 

He was sure. 

That night, she told him about Wells. How he was her best friend, how they had planned on going travelling and being free together. How that plan was cut short in the worst possible way. And in return he told her all about his first few months on the road, how he’d dabbled in some dangerous activity just to keep him and his baby sister afloat. And how, by some miracle, a traveller was kind enough to take them under their wing, show them the ropes of that lifestyle. 

So here they were, two paths colliding. Together. 

She liked the sound of that. 

***

Apparently someone had taken notice that a travelling girl resembled the lost princess that had disappeared nearly five months ago now. And news like that couldn't be taken lightly, especially given the vulnerability of this particular lifestyle. 

So there some explaining to do. Clarke told the rest of camp about her past that night, how in fact she didn't have a cheating husband, how she wasn't just some angry wife that needed an escape. She was a princess, done with a life that she had no say over. 

And in all honesty, she expected some sort of outrage, some sort of shock value. 

Instead, it was her that was shocked. 

“We know,” Jasper gave as means of explanation. “Most of us figured it out a couple of weeks back.”

“And you don’t mind?” Clarke asked, still somewhat hesitant. 

“We don’t care, Clarke.” Madi piped in, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “We like you as a person.” 

Atlas lifted of his burden, she gave a sigh of relief. But she couldn't rest easy. Not yet.

“Cutting your hair isn't enough,” Octavia told her when they set up another camp that night, knowing too well how risky it was to stay in the same area when riders were around. “We need to do something more.”

In the end, they dyed her hair red. 

Jasper crushed up a mixture of wild berries, boar blood and this slimy goop that she didn't even want to ask about. It stunk, and it had to stay in her hair for hours before he deemed it done. And once she washed the paste out, she barely even recognised her reflection in the mirror. 

It was so weird. She was so use to seeing long, blonde hair. Now it was cropped and red. Good thing she didn't have an identity crisis right then and there, but she got pretty damn close.

And whilst everyone seemed to be adjusting with the new Clarke, the red-haired Clarke, it took some just a little longer. 

When she said some, she meant Bellamy. 

“It isn't forever,” she announced, almost laughing at the way Bellamy was glaring at her head from across the campfire. But it didn't stop him, he just kept on glaring at the new appearance, like he was cursing it into not being true. “Bellamy, I’m serious. Stop it.”

He huffed. “Isn’t there something else we could do?” There was still an undertone of resentment. 

“Look, do you want me to be caught?” 

When he pouted his lips like a defiant child, she knew the answer. 

“Then get over it.”

As the days went on, he did his best to try and get use to the change. She could see him biting his tongue whenever her hair was the topic of conversation, could hear him trying his best to compliment it whenever she’d add another braid or more beads. 

But on their next swimming lesson, his true colours were on display. He told her they were going to practice holding their breath underwater, but she knew it was just a ploy to try and get some of the red out of her hair. 

Instead of fighting it though, she just humoured him and went along with it. It probably wouldn't work anyway. 

When they sat upon the shore later that afternoon, drying themselves in the sun, Bellamy turned to her and laughed. “Well, it’s better than the red.” 

When she frowned, he motioned for her to check her reflection in the now calm lake. She crawled forward slowly, hesitant before finally braving herself to look down at the water. “Bellamy!” she shrieked, because now instead of red hair, it was bright pink. “Oh my god!” 

Bellamy appeared beside her, tugging at the strands playfully. “It looks good.”

She pulled away, annoyed. “The whole point is to not stand out.” 

“Well, you’re not blonde anymore. Isn't that enough?” 

Growling, she just shoved him, finding it funny until he decided to pull her down with him, falling in a heap against the muddy bank. It didn't help that when she tried to stand up she fell back down again, slipping on the mud that gave them no grip whatsoever. 

Bellamy caught her though, pulling her closer to him. 

She hoped that she had elbowed him in the ribs as he did so, but when she heard him laughing in her ear, she knew her wish hadn't been granted. 

That night, when Jasper asked her if she wanted him to put more red into her hair, she just sighed and shook her head. “Don’t bother,” she said.

And from across camp, Bellamy grinned. 

***

Only a week later, Harper and Monty gathered the group and shared some news that they’d been keeping a secret for quite a while now. Harper was pregnant, just a couple of weeks along but when she lifted up her dress, it was made blatantly clear. The swell. The barely there bump. 

Another traveller to join the gang. 

There was words of congratulations all around, a few tears and overall excitement. There had never been a baby in camp before. So it was new sort of experience for everyone.

And it turned into a kind of competition too.

When Harper’s morning sickness got the better of her, everyone in the gang had a different remedy they wanted her to try, all determined to be right. Various ointments, fruits, dried meats and the poor girl tried them all, but to no avail. That was until Clarke whipped out her miracle worker, and she was proud to say that her ginger tea recipe was a winner. 

“You’re a goddess,” Harper announced, wrapping her up in a hug.

Later, when Harper gushed about how Clarke was her new best friend, how Bellamy’s adamant belief that apples fixed everything, even morning sickness, had been bullshit, Bellamy dropped down beside Clarke.

He huffed, clearly annoyed. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“I don’t have to be,” she replied easily. “With you I just am.” 

Scoffing, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, originally planning on ruffling her hair in one of those platonic, sibling like motions. But he must’ve thought better of it, because instead he just pulled her closer, keeping his arm there for the rest of the morning. 

***

Clarke blew on the glowing pile of embers, offering the bud of a fire all the oxygen it needed for it to flourish in the bitterly cold morning. Starting fires had become somewhat of second nature to her. She could do it with her eyes closed she was that confident, and so, when it erupted into flames, she didn't think much of it. 

That was until she just about jumped out of her skin when she heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Lincoln’s technique. You learnt from the best.” 

Looking up, Clarke found a brunette approaching camp, slight limp as she did so. She was pretty, Clarke would admit. Long brown tied up in a ponytail, swinging from side to side as she walked. She had a rucksack thrown over her left shoulder, so obviously she was a traveller too. But that didn't make her presence anymore comforting. 

“Who are you?” the blonde asked, standing up and backing away. It was best to be weary of strangers, no matter how they appeared. No one could be fully trusted. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

She didn't like the challenge in her eyes, the smugness in her tone. Clarke withdrew the knife that she always kept in her boot, holding it out as a threat. 

Her company only laughed, clearly amused, but before she could say anything more the familiar squeak of Bellamy’s carriage door opening filled the winter air. They both turned to him, watching as he blinked blearily, trying to get himself accustomed to the early morning sun. 

Bellamy noticed Clarke first, frowning at the knife in her hand. “Why—“ but his words fell short when he noticed the other woman in his surrounds. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and the brunette erupted into a smile. “Raven!” 

They were wrapped up in a hug before Clarke even had time to blink, and she wasn't going to lie; a pang of a familiar feeling rushed through her. She tried pushing it down, swallowing away with her apprehension, because she was known. Bellamy knew her, and when he called out for everyone else to get their lazy asses up and come say hi to Raven it was obvious that everyone else did too. 

But it was still there. Even when everyone else squealed and cheered and reunited with their old friend, it was all still there. 

Clarke was jealous. 

From the questions everyone was asking, she came to discover that Raven had been a major part of the group about a year ago, but she had left to pursue a career in mechanics, or engineering or something along those lines. That a guy named Sinclair was her mentor, a father figure, but he had fallen sick in the last few weeks and passed away. She couldn't stand being alone, couldn't handle the emotions of staying in the workshop, so she’d been searching around for the group, all to eager to join again. 

And by the looks of it, no one had any objections. They all seemed to love her too much. 

Most surprising of all though, was when Murphy emerged from his tent, grumbling about everyone making too much noise, he spotted Raven and a smirk appeared on his lips. A smirk. Clarke had never seen Murphy show even a hint of joy. 

If Raven’s presence was enough to make that old grump actually show some feelings other than anger, or depreciation, or snarky comments, then she must’ve been one hell of a person. 

“Oh, and this is Clarke,” Octavia piped up, noticing the blonde lingering on the outside of the group, clearly out of place. She took her by the hand and pulled her forward, somewhat proud to show off the new addition. 

“We’ve met,” Clarke found herself announcing, more bitter than she had meant. Because she felt threatened. Maybe, now with Raven back, Clarke wasn't really needed anymore. Her space had been filled. 

Bellamy noticed immediately, as he always did. Because when Harper suggested a big breakfast, filling in Raven on everything she had missed, Bellamy pulled her aside. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, staring at her intently. 

She just swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine,” she managed to reply, remarkably cool, calm and collected. “Just a little shocked, is all.” 

“Hey.” He lifted her chin when it began to drop. “Raven’s awesome and I’ve known her for years. She’s not a threat. You don't need to worry about her, okay?” 

Clarke nodded again, a little slower this time. 

“Let’s go and get you two better introduced,” he suggested. “I reckon you two will get along like a house on fire.” 

***

As much as she hated to admit it, just this once, Bellamy was right. 

When Bellamy finally allowed Octavia and Lincoln to share the same tent at night, Clarke found herself bunking with Raven instead. She didn't snore, didn't twitch, she didn't even accidentally smack Clarke in this face like Octavia use to. 

Sometimes though, in the early morning hours, she’d hear the sniffles and muffled cries of a very broken girl beside her, and Clarke knew that it was her leg bothering her. 

When asked Bellamy about the injury, how she came to get it, he just just shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows,” he told her. “She doesn't like talking about it.” 

More secrets. More past lives that needn't be discussed. 

And for once, Clarke was fine with not knowing.

***

In the weeks that followed, Clarke found herself growing more and more confident around water. Bellamy had taught her to paddle, not enough to sustain long and effortless swims like the rest of the group could withhold, but enough that she could get from point A to point B without too much hassle. 

It was enough to survive if she ever fell in again. So that was all that mattered.  
So that’s how she would start off every morning, swimming in the shallows, perking herself up, wiping away the grime from the day before. 

Clarke camp back to camp after one such early morning swim to find it just about empty. She could hear the bickering of Madi and Ethan somewhere in the distance, the clicking of swords from where Octavia and Lincoln we’re obviously sparring. But other than that, it was pretty desolate. Everyone off doing their own things.

After changing into some dry clothes, Clarke hung her towel over a nearby tree branch and proceeded to settle into that hammock that Monty had set up. It was meant to help with Harper’s back pain, but most of the time the poor girl got in it, it took about an hour to get her back out again. Pregnancy and coordination did not go hand in hand. She looked like a beach whale half the time.

The plan was for Clarke to maybe catch a quick nap before other campers came sauntering back, their stomachs grumbling in the midday hour. So closed her eyes for just a few seconds, ready and willing to give her body to darkness when she felt the sun that had once been shining down on her be blocked by a mass. Opening them back up again, she found Bellamy towering over her. 

“What?” she asked him, throwing her arm over her eyes instead. “I’m busy.” 

But when he didn't answer, but didn't move either, she snuck him another glance. He looked…hesitant, something telling her that he was about to ask her something that he had been struggling with for a long time. 

“Bellamy,” she tried, softer. “What is it?” 

He took a breath, then began. “Well, I was thinking…I taught you how to swim.” It was then that she noticed a book in his hands. Not just any book, though. It was _The Iliad and the Odyssey._ “I thought that, maybe you could teach me how to read.” 

Without it meaning to, her jaw automatically dropped as she frowned. “You don't know how to read?” 

Bellamy shook his head, somewhat embarrassed as he swayed slightly from side to side. “I left school when I was seven, I had to work instead.”

Her heart dropped. She knew people weren't as fortunate as she had been, but she had always deemed Bellamy as one of the smartest people she knew. Finding out he couldn't read was obviously going to be a bit of a shock. 

He must’ve taken her silence as a no, because he told her not to worry about it, that it was stupid anyway, that there was no need for him to read. Not wanting a repeat of that night on the beach, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down on the hammock with her. 

She took ahold of the book, opened it up to the first page very carefully and pointed to the print. “That’s the letter A.” 

*** 

It was almost astonishing how quickly Bellamy learnt the basics. Then again, he never wanted to do anything other than learn. From just after breakfast until midday they’d sit down in the quietest area they could find, sitting on the tailgate of his carriage, in her tent, somewhere in the forest or by a river bank and they’d practice letters and their sounds. A is for apple. B is for Bellamy. C is for Clarke. 

They’d take a few hours of break from lunch until mid afternoon to try and let all the information sink in. Still, there were chores that needed to be done, animals that needed hunting, food that needed gathering. Not everything was about leisure out in this life. 

Mid afternoon was when they’d practice drawing the letters into the dirt or on a spare piece of parchment. Clarke was left-handed, so it was a little more difficult trying to teach someone who favoured their right, but they made it work none the less. After just a week he was to distinguish between lowercase and capitals, and even knew some of the easier variations by heart. 

He’d beam when she’d announced that he was doing a good job, that she was proud of him, and that was really the only reward she needed after putting in so many hours. 

By nightfall, they’d sit beside an outer campfire they had made, or a lantern when they were too lazy, and Clarke would read aloud a few pages, finger trailing beneath the word that she was speaking so that Bellamy could follow along. 

It was on one of these nights, hidden from the group though a small cluster of trees, reading in the lantern light when everything changed. 

Sitting closer together, they tried blocking out the cold. And as Clarke read, sometimes she could feel that Bellamy wasn't even looking at the book at all. 

He was looking at her. 

She managed to ignore him for a good ten minutes, surpassing the urge to stare back at him, before she read aloud something that sparked a fire that couldn't be suppressed within her.

_”There is the heat of love, the pulsing rush of longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest go mad.”_

She felt his cheek come to her cheek, and the book dropped to the ground. 

“Clarke,” he whispered, thumb sweeping her right cheek whilst his warm breath fanned across the plane of her left, their lesson all but forgotten. “Can I kiss you?” 

Clarke’s own breath hitched at that, her two hesitant hands meeting to loop around his neck when she turned fully towards him. “Where did that come from?” 

“Well.” The hand that was previously unoccupied now fell to her waist, bringing her body just a little closer to his own. He pulled back his head though, just enough to look at her directly in the eye. He didn't want her to hide, and neither did she. So she held it. “Call it what you want, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. And I know that sounds crazy…but I think that’s what this is.”

Just hearing that come from his mouth was a lot. She knew from Octavia that he didn't do that, fall in love. He said that he would probably never, that he didn't really believe in finding someone to give himself entirely to. And here he was, saying that he did. 

Clarke licked her lips and took a deep breath. This was kind of a lot for an otherwise seemingly normal day, too. Such an intimate moment coming from seemingly no where.

“What if,” she sighed, knowing full well that she was staling in an attempt to calm herself down. All prior confidence she had now melted beneath her, slipping away millisecond by millisecond, “you kiss me, and realise that you've made a horrible, horrible mistake and you never want to do it again?” 

“Not possible.” 

“What if you freak out that I feel the same way about you, but I’m not ready to say those words yet?” She searched in his eyes for any signs of hurt, though she didn't find anything but softness and adoration. 

“That’s fine.” 

With a shuddering breath, she leant in just a little closer, lips now just an inch away one from another’s. “What if—“ she whispered, only to be cut off by the man in her space. 

“What if you stopped overthinking and you just let me kiss you, instead?” 

She smiled. 

“Is that okay with you?” 

Clarke only just begun the beginnings of a nod before he was descending upon her, eager, excitable and entirely, perfectly welcomed. She didn't really know what she was doing, but it didn't really matter anyway. Bellamy led, hands just about everywhere, though lips ever gentle. A perfect balance. 

He was the first to pull away, though he still stayed close, pressing his forehead against hers as they panted simultaneously. 

“Wow.” Despite it being such a simple expression, she felt so dumb saying it. She’d never kissed anyone before.

She knew that Bellamy had, done a lot more than just kissed too. But when he smiled, giddy, she knew that this was a different sort of new for him. “Yeah.” 

Once her breath had come back to her, she voiced a simple request. “Again.” 

He was only happy to oblige. 

***

They showed more open affection with each other ever since that day. Lingering touches whenever they’d meet up during the day, a hand on the small of the back, resting on the knee. Secret, reserved smiles between them, like they knew something only they knew. 

Originally, they had planned on taking things slow. They had all the time in the world, there was no need to rush. 

So that’s what they did. For a whole two weeks, their public displays of affection were at a minimal. Hell, they never even kissed in front of anyone. When they did, it was deep in the woods, or down by the lake, or in those rare few times that they were in camp alone. And they stayed in their respective beds at night, Clarke in the tent with Raven, and Bellamy in his carriage. 

And it worked for them. It really did. 

But one day, Bellamy didn't come home. 

It had started off as any other average day. The group had eaten breakfast together, grilled tomatoes, pumpkin, okra and eggs. It had been good eating ever since Harper became pregnant. The whole camp knew the importance of a balanced diet one needed in order to grow a healthy baby, so they’d been paying a lot more attention to their foraging and hunting. Before, they sometimes would just have rice for meals, but that didn't cut it anymore, not with Harper’s cravings. 

So they all dug in to their decadent breakfast, chatting idly with another other as they started off their day the right way. They all took it in turns feeling the baby kick inside Harper’s stomach too, marvelling at how strong such a small human could be. 

And then, as they often did, they went their own way. Raven, Harper, Monty and Jasper all went on a small hike together, Madi and Ethan were off playing in the forest, Jackson and Miller went back to sleep, apparently awake all night doing who knows what and Lincoln and Octavia were out sparring.

It was a clear, beautiful day and Clarke hadn't actually planned on doing much. So when Bellamy came up to her announcing that he and Murphy were going on a supply run to a nearby village, she begged to come. 

“It’s too risky,” he had replied, shaking his head. When her face significantly dropped, showing her disappointment, he brought his hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

In a way, she knew he was right. But it still sucked none the less. 

He looked over his shoulder and seeing that Murphy was preoccupied saddling up his horse, he grasped at the opportunity. Leaning forward, he pressed a lingering kiss to her already pouted lips, pulling away all too soon though, a mere wink acting as a final reminder of him. “I’ll bring you back something,” he said before they were both gone. 

She didn't think much of it at first. 

People came sauntering back to camp in their own time, laughing, chatty, completely carefree. And that’s the way Clarke felt too. There was nothing to worry about, supply runs usually lasted a few hours anyway. No big deal. 

Lunch came and went. Beans and boar and this plum puree that was currently Clarke’s favourite. It was Bellamy’s too, and she made sure to set some aside for when he came back. 

“Where’s Bell and Murphy?” Octavia asked, noticing her doing so. “I didn't know they were going out.”

“Supply run.” 

“Oh,” Lincoln joined the conversation, throwing his arm over Octavia’s shoulder. “We were running low?” 

There was an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach now. “Apparently,” she grumbled.

By sunset, it wasn't just her growing worried. 

“Shouldn’t they be back by now?” Raven asked, just as equally nervous as Clarke was. 

It was decided that they needed going after.

“We’re just going to go see if we can find them,” Lincoln announced, mounting his horse as Octavia did the same.

“I’ll come,” Miller announced, firm. 

But when Clarke did the same, she was shut down. “Stay,” Lincoln ordered, and she honestly felt like a dog. 

She was about to argue, about to demand for them to take her with them, but then she felt Harper’s hand wrapping around hers, squeezing tight. 

She turned to her and seeing her soft gaze, her shaking head, Clarke knew that it wasn't worth it. 

So she watched them leave. And she absolutely hated having no power to follow, to know what was going on. They would all just have to wait and see. 

It took two hours, the longest two hours of Clarke’s life. 

She spent the entirety of those hours pacing with Raven, careful laps around the fire whilst they both chewed at their nails anxiously. They even ignored Harper’s yearning for her to stop, claiming that it was stressing her and the baby out too much.

But they only stopped when she heard the trots of a crowd nearing, looking up to find all five horses, and all five people. 

“Oh thank god,” she breathed, feeling more relieved than she had ever, only to find that the group got closer, two were injured. 

Murphy, who she honestly couldn't have cared less about in that moment, though seemed to be Raven’s biggest priority.

And Bellamy. 

His face was bloodied and bruised, slouched over on his horse at an angle that Clarke wasn't even sure how he was staying up. And his clothes were torn straight off, hanging in shreds on his broken frame. 

That relief turned to dread. 

“What happened?” she found herself yelling, rushing towards them. 

Lincoln dismounted his horse, explaining, “Apparently they were attacked when a trade went wrong.” 

She ignored Octavia’s, “Such bullshit,” comment, rushing towards Bellamy’s side once Miller had helped him down. 

Instinctively she brought her hands to both of his cheeks, breathing ragged and torn as she held his gaze, and more importantly, held him up all together. “What the hell,” she sighed, forgetting everyone else. In her head, right now, it was just them. 

He tired to blink his swollen eyes open, though failed miserably. “Sorry,” he murmured, like it was all his fault. He sounded heartbroken too, like he didn't want her going the turmoil that he was going through. 

And hey, maybe it was his fault. But she didn't care. He shouldn't have been apologising, not in the state that he was in. 

“I shouldn't have—I don’t know—We—“ 

Clarke shut him up with a kiss.

To hell with taking things slow, to keeping their relationship somewhat of a secret. She thought back to a quote that had stuck with her during one of their lessons. _Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again._

So she kissed him, and he kissed her back. 

And life as a traveller went on. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a one-shot but I aimed too high and couldn’t finish it in time. Story of my life. 
> 
> I said before, I’m so sorry for the inevitable mistakes in there. I’ve been staring at these words for far too long and now everything has just kinda blended in together. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Please don’t forget to comment because it’ll make my struggle worth it. 
> 
> find me on tumblr: @bell-me-oh-my


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